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WMttaker's  Series  of  Select  Books. 

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CASTLE    COMFORT.      A    Story   for    Children.     By  Mrs. 

W.  J.  HAYS. 
CITY  COUSINS.     By  the  same  author. 

COUSIN    MINNIE  ;    or,  The   Feast   of  Life.     By  Mrs.  F. 

BURGE  SMITH. 

A  DOMESTIC  HEROINE.     By  Mrs.  W.  J.  HAYS. 
DOROTHY.     A  Tale.     By  T.  M.  BROWNE. 

THE  FLOATING  LIGHT  OF  RINGFINNEN.     By  L.  T. 
MKADE. 

GETTING   TO    BE   WOMEN.     By  GEORC;E  KLINGLE. 

A    LOVING    SISTER.     By  Mrs.  W.  J.   HAYS. 

MILLY  ;  or,  The  Hidden  Cross.     By  LUCY  ELLEN  GUERNSEY. 

MISS     DEWBERRY'S     SCHOLARS.       By    Mrs.    M.  E. 

SANGSTER. 

MISS  BENT;  or,  At  His  Footstool.  By  Mrs.  F.  BURGE SMITH. 
NOT  MY  WAY  ;  or,  Good  Out  of  Evil.  By  T.  M.  BROWNE. 
ONLY  A  TRAMP  ;  or,  Golden  Links.  By  GRACE  STEBIJING. 
RECOMPENSE.  A  Story.  By  MARY  H.  SEYMOUR. 

SHOSHIE,  THE    HINDOO   ZENANA  TEACHER.     By 

HARRIETTS  G.  BRITTAN. 
SILVERDALE   RECTORY;   or,  The  Golden  Links.     By 

GRACE  STEBFUNG. 
STORIES  FOR  THE  HAPPY  DAYS  OF  CHRISTMAS 

TIME.     By  Rev.  GEO.  W.  SHINN,  D.D. 

SUNNY    DAYS    ABROAD;    or,    The    Old    World    Seen 

with  Young  Eyes. 

THE   THREE   CHUMS.     By  M.  L.  RIDLEY. 
WALTER    ALISON  :    His  Friends  and  Foes.     By  M.  L. 

RIDLEY. 


OLDHAM 


OR 


BESIDE    ALL    WATERS 


BY 


LUCY   ELLEN   GUERNSEY 

AUTHOR  OF  "LOVEDAY'S  HISTORY,"  "LADY  BETTY'S  GOVERNESS," 
"IRISH  AMY,"  ETC. 


FOURTH  EDITION. 


NEW  YORK 
THOMAS     WHITTAKER 

2    AND   3    BIBLE    HOUSE 


COPYRIGHT.  1885, 
BY  THOMAS  WHITTAKER. 


GIFT 


EI.ECTROTVPED    AND    PRINTED 

BY    KAND,    AVERY,    AND    COMl'ANY, 

BOSTON. 


955 


THIS  BOOK  IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED 
TO  MY  BIBLE  CLASS. 


M854127 


PREFACE. 


I  THINK  this  book  tells  its  own  story,  such  as  it  is. 
It  is  simply  a  tale  of  quiet  country  life  in  a  New- 
England  parish,  with  some  of  its  oddities  and  advan- 
tages, and  a  little  of  the  tragedy  which  is  found 
everywhere.  It  is  not  meant  specially  either  for 
old  or  young,  though  I  hope  both  classes  may  find 
entertainment  and  profit  in  it. 

One  word  as  to  the  Bible-class  service.  I  believe 
such  neighborhood  meetings  would  be  found  of  the 
utmost  advantage  both  in  city  and  country  parishes. 
In  the  city  especially  may  always  be  found  a  large 
class  of  women  who  have  been  brought  up  to  attend 
church  regularly,  but  have  fallen  out  of  the  habit, 
at  first,  perhaps,  kept  at  home  by  the  cares  of  young 
children,  and  afterward  from  indifference.  Such 
persons  may  often  be  induced  to  attend  a  service 
in  a  neighbor's  house  or  some  such  place,  of  an 
evening,  when  they  would  not  go  to  church.  My 
idea  of  such  services  would  be,  to  make  them  "  Bible- 
readings,"  in  which  all  should  be  invited  to  take 
part.  I  do  believe  that  a  great  deal  of  good  might 

be  done  in  this  way. 

LUCY   ELLEN    GUERNSEY. 

5 


CONTENlb. 


CHAPTER    I. 

XMSB 

THE  RED  SCHOOLHOUSE n 

CHAPTER    II. 
NEIGHBORHOOD  NEWS 25 

CHAPTER   III. 
KIT  AT  HOME  -$ 


CHAPTER    IV. 
STRANGERS 57 

CHAPTER   V. 
THE  MEETING 72 

CHAPTER   VI, 
THE  ENEMY 83 

CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  SPRINGING  GRAIN *       •  103 

7 


CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER    VIII. 


Tin:  SNAKES 


CHAPTER    IX. 
Two  TEA-PARTIES       .........    140 

CHAPTER   X. 
THE  BIRDS  OF  THE  AIR     ........    107 

CHAPTER  XL 
NEW  PROJECTS     ..........    190 

CHAPTER   XII. 
HARMONY  AND  DISCORD     ........    221; 

CHAPTER   XIII. 
KIT'S  VICTORY     ........  .    240 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
Miss  VAN  ZANDT        .........    255 

CHAPTER   XV. 
MORE  CHANGES    ..........    268 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
Tin:  TEA-PARTY  ..........    jo>, 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
MRS.  ORME  ...........    293 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 
TROUBLE  AT  HOME     ......  .    304 


CONTENTS.  9 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

PAGE 

OLDHAM  AFFAIRS 315 

CHAPTER   XX. 
WARNINO 330 

CHAPTER   XXI. 
THE  NET  CLOSED 345 

CHAPTER   XXII. 
THE  END      .       .       . 357 


;  OR,  BESIDE  ALL  WATERS. 

CHAPTER   I. 

THE    RED    SCHOOLHOUSE. 


IT  was  not  in  the  least  like  the  red  schoolhouses 
one  may  see  every  day  in  the  city.  They  are  great 
piles  of  brick,  usually  all  the  uglier  for  the  attempts 
at  ornament  bestowed  upon  them.  They  have  any 
number  of  rooms  for  any  number  of  grades,  with  A 
classes  and  B  classes,  and  all  the  other  machinery 
for  grinding  out  scholars  by  the  hundred,  all  done  to 
one  pattern.  My  red  schoolhouse  was  more  like  the 
little  "  custom  mill,"  built  by  the  side  of  a  dashing, 
flashing  mill-stream,  with  trees  growing  about  it, 
and  a  row  of  sheds  where  stand  steady,  sober  old 
horses,  patiently  waiting  while  their  owners  sit  in- 
side, or  about  the  mill-door,  discussing  politics  and 
neighborhood  news,  and  waiting  in  their  turn  for 
their  separate  "grists"  of  sweet-smelling  meal  and 
flour.  There  was  just  such  a  mill  not  far  from  the 
red  schoolhouse ;  and  the  hum  of  the  machinery  could 


12  OLD  HAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

be  heard  in  the  schoolroom  when  the  boys  and  girls 
were  particularly  quiet,  as  was  the  case  on  the 
special  occasion  when  my  story  begins. 

There  had  been  a  talk  two  or  three  times,  in 
school-meeting,  of  re-furnishing  the  schoolhouse  on 
modern  principles  ;  but  it  had  never  been  carried  out. 
A  long  desk  ran  around  two  sides  of  the  room,  with 
a  bench  before  it,  where  the  elder  scholars  sat ;  in 
front  of  this  bench  was  another,  mostly  used  for 
recitations ;  and  before  all,  a  still  lower  seat  for  the 
little  ones  who  were  just  learning  their  letters.  The 
rest  of  the  furniture  consisted  of  the  teacher's  desk 
and  chair,  standing  on  a  platform  by  themselves  ;  a 
good  serviceable  blackboard,  a  little  the  worse  for 
wear ;  and  a  map  of  the  world,  and  another  of  the 
United  States,  which  was  so  many  States  behind 
the  times  that  it  must  needs  be  an  old  inhabitant. 

There  were  not  more  than  twenty  scholars  present 
that  June  afternoon  ;  and  those  were  mostly  girls  or 
very  little  boys,  for  the  big  boys  of  the  district  were 
busy  with  another  branch  of  their  education,  —  help- 
ing their  fathers  on  the  farm.  All  the  children  were 
seated  with  their  faces  toward  the  teacher,  and  the 
room  was  so  still  that  the  hum  of  the  mill  sounded 
like  the  drone  of  a  big  bumble-bee.  Miss  Arm- 
strong was  standing  on  the  platform,  her  hand  rest- 
ing upon  a  book  which  she  had  apparently  just  laid 
down.  She  could  not  be  called  a  very  pretty  woman, 
and  yet  there  was  that  in  her  face  and  manner 
which  made  one  look  at  her  again.  She  had  a  cer- 
tain air  of  peace  and  cheerfulness  overlying  steadi- 
ness and  resolution,  —  what  you  would  call  a  face  to 


THE  RED  SCHOOLHOUSE.  13 

be  trusted.  "  She  looks  as  if  she  had  come  through 
the  wars,  and  beat"  said  Patience  Fletcher,  who, 
poor  thing,  had  been  beaten  many  times  in  her  war- 
fare. 

"  Now,  let  me  hear  you  say  that  verse  all  to- 
gether," said  Miss  Armstrong ;  "and  then  we  will 
join  in  repeating  the  Lord's  Prayer.  I  hope  I  shall 
hear  every  voice.  Stand  up,  if  you  please." 

Every  voice  was  heard  as  the  children  repeated,  in 
tones  that  were  reverent  from  feeling,  "  Like  as  a 
father  pitieth  his  own  children,  so  the  Lord  pitieth 
them  that  fear  him."  All  the  children  joined  in  the 
repetition  of  the  Lord's  Prayer,  with  one  exception. 
A  thin,  dark  little  girl,  with  black,  crispy  hair,  stood 
looking  down  at  her  closely  clasped  hands  with  a 
curious  movement  about  her  lips.  You  would  say 
she  had  much  ado  not  to  burst  out  crying.  As  the 
school  was  dismissed,  and  this  little  girl  made  her 
courtesy  at  the  door  (for  this  school  was  so  far  behind 
the  times  that  "manners"  were  still  taught  therein), 
she  suddenly  raised  her  eyes,  and  looked  her  teacher 
in  the  face.  Those  eyes  of  Kit's  were  always  a  kind 
of  surprise.  They  were  dark  violet-blue,  with  black 
level  brows,  and  very  long  black  lashes,  —  Irish  blue 
eyes,  —  and  had  an  extraordinary  brilliancy  about 
them,  like  precious  stones  or  sunlit  water.  They 
now  flashed  upon  Miss  Armstrong  with  a  look  of 
love  and  thankfulness  which  went  to  the  teacher's 
heart. 

"  She  has  taken  in  something,  at  any  rate,"  thought 
Miss  Armstrong.  "I  must  talk  more  with  her.  I 
wonder  why  she  did  not  join  in  the  prayer." 


14  OLD  HAM;   OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

Somebody  else  wondered  also ;  for,  the  moment 
she  was  outside  the  door,  Kit  was  met  with  the  sharp 
question,  — 

"  Kit  Mallory,  why  didn't  you  say  the  Lord's 
Prayer  ? " 

"  I  don't  know  it,"  replied  Kit,  coloring  up  to  the 
roots  of  her  hair  ;  and  then,  after  a  moment,  she 
added,  as  if  with  an  effort,  "Our  folks  don't  believe 
in  such  things." 

"  You  wicked  girl ! "  exclaimed  the  first  speaker, 
a  pretty  well  grown  girl  of  sixteen,  very  neatly 
dressed.  "  You  wicked  child,  not  to  believe  in  the 
Lord's  Prayer ! " 

"I  didn't  say  I  didn't  believe  in  it :  I  said  I  didn't 
know  it,"  replied  Kit  with  some  spirit.  "  How  can 
I  believe  in  what  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  ? " 

"Well,  you  ought  to  know  it,  then,"  said  Selina. 
"You  could  have  learned  it  if  you  had  chosen,  I 
know." 

Kit  did  not  seem  disposed  to  pursue  the  subject. 
She  walked  a  little  way  down  the  road,  climbed  the 
bars,  and  was  soon  ascending  the  rocky  hill-pasture. 

"I  declare,  I  don't  think  that  girl  ought  to  be 
allowed  to  come  to  school,"  said  Selina.  "Phin 
Mallory  is  a  regular  infidel,  and  Melissa  makes  all 
kinds  of  fun  of  religion.  Kit  isn't  Phin's  niece, 
either,  though  she  calls  him  uncle.  She  is  only  a 
little  foundling  taken  out  of  the  poorhouse  ;  Melissa 
told  me  so  herself." 

"  If  she  had  been  out  of  the  orphan-asylum,  it 
would  have  been  all  right,  I  suppose,"  said  a  girl 
who  had  not  yet  spoken.  It  was  now  Selina's  turn 


THE  RED  SCHOOLHOUSE.  15 

to  color.  Her  eyes  flashed,  and  she  turned  abso- 
lutely white  with  anger. 

"For  shame,  Sarah!"  said  Faith  Fletcher.  "It 
isn't  Selina's  fault." 

"Nor  Kit's  either." 

"Oh,  don't  trouble  yourself  to  take  my  part, 
Faith,"  said  Selina  in  a  voice  which  trembled  with 
anger.  "  If  Sarah  "  —  But  here  she  stopped  ;  and, 
tying  on  her  bonnet,  she  walked  rapidly  away  in  a 
direction  opposite  to  that  which  Kit  had  taken. 

"  You  are  too  bad,  Sarah,"  said  Faith.  "  Now  she 
will  go  home  and  cry  half  the  night." 

"  Why  am  I  too  bad,  any  more  than  she  ? "  asked 
Sarah.  "  What  did  she  say  about  Kit  ?  " 

"Two  wrongs  don't  make  a  right,"  said  Faith,  very 
truly. 

"  And  as  to  her  crying,  what  is  there  to  cry  about  ? " 
continued  Sarah.  "  I  think  she  might  be  thankful 
that  she  has  a  good  home.  Nobody  would  ever  think 
of  her  being  an  adopted  child  if  she  did  not  put  on 
such  airs.  I  must  say  I  do  like  to  take  her  down." 

"And  how  do  you  like  it  when  somebody  takes 
you  down  ?  "  asked  Faith. 

"  When  it  happens,  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Sarah 
lightly.  "  Where  is  that  child  ?  —  Come,  Gerty.  You 
can't  stay  to  play  to-night:  I  promised  to  come  home 
early,  and  help  mother." 

"  And  I  must  go  home  and  help  sister,"  said  Faith, 
with  a  little  sigh,  as  if  the  prospect  were  not  the  most 
alluring  in  the  world.  "  Come,  children.  Eddy,  see 
how  you  have  mussed  up  your  clean  apron  ;  and  Eben 
has  got  his  knees  all  green  on  the  grass.  What  do 


1 6  OLD  HAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

you  think  sister  will  say?  Take  hold  of  hands  now, 
and  walk  along  pretty." 

The  prospect  of  what  sister  would  say  seemed  to 
have  a  very  sobering  effect  on  the  little  boy  and  girl, 
—  twins  of  six  years  old.  They  at  once  gave  up 
their  play,  and  marched  off  in  the  most  orderly  man- 
ner. Faith  followed  them  ;  and  when  Miss  Arm- 
strong came  out  of  the  schoolhouse,  and  locked  the 
door,  there  was  not  a  human  being  in  sight.  She 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  took  the  same  road 
that  Kit  had  followed.  She  had  gone  about  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile,  when  she  stopped,  and  looked  about 
her  with  a  puzzled  expression.  As  she  did  so,  a 
light  figure  sprang  over  the  stone  wall,  and  Kit 
Mallory  stood  beside  her. 

"  Please,  Miss  Armstrong,  ain't  you  taking  the 
wrong  road  ? "  said  she  as  soon  as  she  could  gather 
breath  enough  to  speak.  "Don't  you  want  to  go  to 
Mr.  Weston's  to-night  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  I  do,  Kitty,"  answered  Miss  Arm- 
strong. "I  was  just  thinking  I  had  made  a  mistake. 
Have  I  come  very  far  out  of  my  way  ? " 

"Well,  quite  a  piece,"  answered  Kit;  "but,  if  you 
don't  mind  going  cross-lots,  I  could  show  you  a 
shorter  way  than  the  road.  Its  real  pretty,  too,  only 
it  is  kind  of  steep  part  of  the  way." 

"  I  don't  mind  the  steepness  at  all,  and  I  love  to 
go  cross-lots,"  answered  Miss  Armstrong.  "  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  can  climb  that  wall  quite  as  easily  as 
you  did,  however." 

"  There  are  bars  only  a  little  way  from  here,"  said 
Kit:  "I  can  take  them  down  for  you." 


THE  RED  SCHOOLHOUSE.  I/ 

"  How  did  you  come  to  my  help  so  opportunely, 
Kitty?"  asked  Miss  Armstrong  as  they  walked 
along  toward  the  bars. 

"  I  saw  you  from  the  hill,"  answered  Kit  as  she 
took  down  the  bars,  and  then  carefully  put  them  up 
again.  "  There  is  a  little  hollow  up  yonder,  where  I 
always  stop  to  rest.  It  is  real  pretty  when  you  get 
there.  Now  we  have  to  go  up,  you  see ;  but  it  isn't 
so  steep  very  far." 

Miss  Armstrong  not  only  saw,  but  felt,  the  steep- 
ness of  the  path,  which  taxed  all  her  strength  for  a 
few  minutes,  for  she  was  not  used  to  mountain-climb- 
ing. Presently,  however,  they  came  to  a  kind  of 
break  or  niche  in  the  steep  rocky  ledge  which 
crowned  the  hill  like  a  rampart.  The  grass  in  this 
hollow  was  short  and  fine,  and  beautifully  green ;  and 
lovely  tufts  of  lady-fern  and  maiden-hair  grew  about 
the  rocks.  A  low,  wide-spreading  oak-tree  stood  at 
the  entrance  of  the  nook ;  and  a  bright,  clear  spring, 
bursting  to  light  from  under  the  ledge,  made  quite  a 
deep  pool,  and  then  prattled  cheerfully  away  down 
the  mountain-side.  The  view  from  the  spot  was 
lovely  enough  to  have  pleased  a  more  cultivated  eye 
than  Kit's.  The  long  valley,  with  the  river  and  the 
road  winding  through  it,  was  spread  out  like  a  map ; 
and  the  "folded  hills"  rose  one  behind  the  other, 
till  the  prospect  was  closed  by  the  top  of  a  great 
blue  mountain.  Almost  at  their  feet  lay  the  school- 
house,  and  Bassett's  mill  with  its  flashing  mill-dam. 
Miss  Armstrong  uttered  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

"I'm  glad  you  think  it  pretty,"  said  Kit.  "Please 
sit  down  and  rest." 


1 8  OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

As  she  spoke  she  pointed  out  a  flat  rock  as  a 
desirable  seat;  and  then,  disappearing  fora  little,  she 
presently  came  back  with  one  hand  full  of  young 
wintergreens,  and  the  other  of  the  last  year's  stems, 
each  with  its  coral  berry. 

"  I  can  get  you  a  drink  if  you  like,"  said  she  ;  and, 
searching  in  a  hollow  among  the  rocks,  she  brought 
out  a  cracked  teacup,  which  she  filled  at  the  spring- 
head, and  offered  to  Miss  Armstrong. 

" Thank  you,  my  dear;  this  is  very  refreshing," 
said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  You  have  made  me  a  nice 
little  treat.  I  do  not  wonder  you  like  to  stop  here." 

"I  think  it  is  pleasant,"  said  Kit:  "you  can  see 
so  far,  and  the  colors  are  so  nice.  Folks  say  red 
houses  are  ugly  and  old-fashioned,  but  somehow  the 
red  schoolhouse  and  mill  seem  just  to  fit  in  —  I  don't 
know  how  to  say  what  I  mean." 

"I  understand  you,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "They 
do  just  exactly  fit  in,  as  you  say.  You  have  an  eye 
for  color,  Kitty." 

"I  love  colors,  I  know  that,"  said  Kit;  and  then, 
her  face  darkening  as  if  with  an  unpleasant  recol- 
lection, "Melissa  says  I  am  a  fool  because  I  love 
flowers,  and  because  I  am  always  picking  up  stones 
and  snail-shells.  She  threw  away  all  my  pretty 
stones  that  I  got  up  on  the  mountain,  but  I'll  be 
even  with  her  some  day." 

"You  should  not  speak  like  that,"  said  Miss  Arm- 
strong gently.  "Don't  you  know  that  it  is  wrong  to 
wish  for  revenge  ?  " 

"  Is  it  ?  "  asked  Kit. 

"  Yes,  my  dear.     Do  you  never  read  the  Bible  ? " 


THE  RED  SCHOOLHOUSE.  1Q 

"  I  never  saw  only  the  outside  of  one,"  answered 
Kit.  "  Uncle  Phin  won't  have  one  in  the  house. 
He  says  all  pious  people  are  humbugs,  and  that  it 
was  religion  that  made  aunt  Martha  crazy." 

"  Is  your  aunt  crazy  ?  "  asked  Miss  Armstrong. 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  She  isn't  raving  crazy  all  the  time ; 
but  she  just  sits  still  in  her  chair,  and  takes  no 
notice  of  any  thing.  Sometimes  she  would  not  eat 
any  thing  for  days  together  if  Symantha  or  uncle 
Phin  did  not  coax  her.  They  are  real  good  to  her, 
but  Melissa  hasn't  a  mite  of  patience  with  her." 

"And  would  you  like  to  read  the  Bible,  Kitty?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  if  there  are  nice  stories  in  it," 
answered  Kit  doubtfully.  "I  love  stories." 

"And  so  do  I,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "Yes, 
there  are  plenty  of  beautiful  stories  in  the  Bible.  But 
that  is  not  the  reason  we  love  it :  it  is  because  the 
Bible  is  God's  word, — his  letter  or  message  to  us, 
to  teach  us  about  him.  If  you  had  a  kind  friend  out 
in  California,  and  he  should*  write  you  a  letter  saying 
he  had  a  delightful  home  all  ready  for  you,  and  tell- 
ing you  what  you  must  do  in  order  to  come  to  that 
home,  you  would  think  a  great  deal  of  that  letter, 
wouldn't  you  ?  You  would  want  to  read  it  over  and 
over,  and  learn  all  it  had  to  tell  you." 

"  I  guess  I  would  !  "  said  Kit  with  emphasis.  "  I 
would  learn  it  off  by  heart,  and  think  about  it  all  the 
time." 

"  Well,  the  Bible  is  very  much  such  a  letter  to  us. 
In  it  our  Heavenly  Father  tells  us  about  Himself, 
and  all  He  has  done  for  us,  and  especially  how  He 
sent  His  Son  to  take  our  nature  upon  Him,  and  die 


20  OLD II AM;    OR,    BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

for  us  on  the  cross,  and  then  to  rise  from  the  dead, 
and  go  into  heaven  to  make  ready  a  place  for  those 
who  love  Him." 

Kit  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment,  and  then  her 
eyes  lighted  up. 

"  I  believe  I  read  about  Him  in  the  '  Pilgrim's 
Progress,'  "  said  she.  "  Isn't  He  the  Lord  that  it  tells 
about  ? " 

"Yes."  answered  Miss  Armstrong.  "So  you  have 
read  the  '  Pilgrim's  Progress  '  ?  " 

"  Not  all  of  it.  I  found  an  old,  torn  book  of  it  up 
in  the  garret  when  we  came  here  ;  and  it  was  a  story, 
so  I  read  it.  Uncle  Phin  said  it  was  all  a  heap  of  non- 
sense, like  'Bluebeard'  and  'Jack  the  Giant-Killer;' 
but  it  always  did  seem  to  me  more  than  that.  So 
there  really  is  such  a  person  ? " 

Miss  Armstrong  looked  at  the  child  for  a  moment 
in  amazement.  With  all  her  experience,  she  found  it 
hard  to  realize  that  here,  in  the  midst  of  a  Christian 
community,  was  a  child  of  twelve  who  could  ask  such 
a  question.  Kit  did  not  understand  the  teacher's 
glance,  and  took  it  for  one  of  displeasure. 

"  I  don't  know  any  thing,  hardly,"  she  said  hum- 
bly, "only  to  read  and  write  a  little.  Where  we 
lived  out  West,  there  was  hardly  ever  any  church  or 
meeting,  and  we  only  had  school  three  or  four 
months  in  the  year.  When  we  came  here,  Miss 
Celia  Claxton  called,  and  asked  uncle  Phin  to  let 
me  come  to  Sunday  school ;  but  he  wouldn't :  and 
he  talked  so  to  her  she  has  never  been  near  us  since. 
He  says  religion  is  all  priestcraft  and  lies,  and  that 
nobody  really  believes  in  it." 


THE  RED  SCHOOLHOUSE.  21 

"That  is  a  great  mistake,  and  one  that  I  fear  he 
will  be  very  sorry  for  some  day,"  said  Miss  Arm- 
strong. "  Kitty,  my  dear  child,  before  I  go,  I  want 
to  teach  you  a  verse  out  of  the  Bible.  Listen,  and 
say  it  after  me." 

It  was  with  a  very  serious  face -that  Kit  repeated 
after  her  friend,  "  God  so  loved  the  world,  that  He 
gave  His  only  begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believ- 
eth  in  Him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting 
life."  One  or  two  repetitions  enabled  her  to  say  the 
verse  perfectly.  Then  Miss  Armstrong  took  out  of 
her  pocket  a  pretty  little  card,  on  which  was  printed 
that  time-honored  and  always  beautiful  prayer  which 
begins,  — 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep," 

and  also  a  verse  for  the  morning. 

"  I  will  give  you  this  for  your  own,"  said  she. 
"  Learn  these  verses,  and  say  them  night  and  morn- 
ing. But,  Kitty,  if  you  want  your  Heavenly  Father 
to  give  you  any  thing  else,  you  can  ask  Him  in  your 
own  words.  He  will  always  hear  you  if  you  ask  for 
the  sake  of  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord." 

"  And  will  He  always  give  it  to  me  ? "  asked  Kit 
eagerly. 

"  Yes,  if  it  is  best  for  you  to  have  it.  But  He 
knows  better  than  we  do  what  is  good  for  us ;  and, 
when  we  ask  for  what  we  ought  not  to  have,  He  does 
not  give  it." 

"  I  see,"  said  Kit  thoughtfully.  "Just  as  if  a  baby 
should  want  a  sharp  knife :  its  mother  would  not  let 
it  have  the  knife,  if  the  baby  cried  ever  so  hard." 


22  OLD  HAM-,    OK,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  I  see  you  understand  me,  my  dear.  Now  we 
must  walk  on,  or  we  shall  be  late. 

"  Have  you  always  lived  with  your  uncle,  Kitty  ?  " 
asked  Miss  Armstrong  as  they  walked  down  the  hill. 

"  No,  ma'am.  Melissa  says  uncle  took  me  out  of 
the  poorhouse ;  but  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Kit  in 
a  confidential  tone.  "  I  remember  a  place  that  was 
not  a  bit  like  the  poorhouse." 

"  What  was  it  like  ?  "  asked  Miss  Armstrong. 

Kit  stopped  for  an  instant,  seeming  to  send  her 
thoughts  inward.  "  It  was  a  room  with  a  bright 
carpet  on  the  floor,"  said  she.  "  I  used  to  sit  on  the 
floor,  and  run  my  fingers  over  the  figures.  And  there 
were  plants,  like  Miss  Claxton's,  and  a  big  bird.  That 
is  all  I  can  remember  when  I  am  awake.  Sometimes 
I  dream  about  another  place  where  I  have  been,  but 
I  can't  tell  what  it  is  like.  And  it  doesn't  seem  to 
me  as  if  my  name  was  Keturah,  either." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  Catherine,"  suggested  Miss  Arm- 
strong. 

"  I  can't  tell,"  said  Kit,  knitting  her  brows.  "  It 
doesn't  seem  as  if  that  was  it  exactly.  I  asked 
Symantha  one  day ;  but  she  hushed  me  up,  and  told 
me  never  to  talk  about  it,  because  uncle  Phin  would 
be  very  angry  if  he  knew.  But  I  think  about  it  a 
great  deal,"  concluded  Kit  with  a  kind  of  triumph 
in  her  tone.  "They  can't  keep  me  from  think- 
ing." 

'*  Here  is  Mr.  Weston  now,"  said  Miss  Armstrong 
as  they  came  out  of  the  pasture  into  the  lane  which 
led  out  to  the  road  beside  a  great  barn. 

"Well,  I  declare!     I  was  just  going  to  hitch  up, 


THE  RED  SCHOOLHOUSE.  2$ 

and  go  after  you,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "You  staid  so 
long,  I  thought  you  must  be  lost." 

"That  is  exactly  what  happened  to  me,"  replied 
Miss  Armstrong.  "  I  stupidly  took  the  wrong  turn 
coming  out  of  the  schoolhouse  ;  and  I  don't  know 
where  I  should  have  been  by  this  -time  if  Kitty  had 
not  come  to  my  rescue,  and  brought  me  over  the  hill. 
We  should  have  been  here  long  before,  only  that  we 
sat  down  for  a  rest  and  a  chat." 

"  Did  you  put  up  the  bars,  Kit  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Weston. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  always  do  when  I  take  them  down  ; 
but  I  generally  climb  over,"  answered  Kit.  "  I  must 
be  going,"  she  added  with  an  effort.  "  Symantha 
will  want  me." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  He  went 
into  the  barn  as  he  spoke,  and  came  back  with  a 
basketful  of  June  russet  apples. 

"There  !  you  don't  see  many  such  apples  this  time 
of  year,"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  "  said  Kit  gratefully.  "  Aunt 
Martha  will  eat  an  apple  sometimes  when  she  won't 
touch  any  thing  else." 

"  That  child  has  hard  times,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mr. 
Weston,  as  Kit  disappeared  behind  the  barn.  "  But 
what  has  become  of  Selina?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  her  at  all,"  replied  Miss  Arm- 
strong. "  I  supposed  she  came  directly  home." 

"  Here  she  is  now.  — Why,  Selina !  how  was  it  you 
did  not  wait  for  Miss  Armstrong  ? " 

"  I  forgot,"  answered  Selina,  coloring ;  "  and  when 
I  went  back  she  was  gone." 


24  OLDI1AM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  Your  wits  were  wool-gathering,  as  usual,  I  guess," 
said  Mr.  Weston.  "  Only  for  Kit  Mallory,  Miss  Arm- 
strong might  have  been  halfway  to  Oldbury  by  this 
time.  However,  all's  well  that  ends  well.  Run  into 
the  house  now,  and  help  ma.  Aunt  Betsy  Burr  and 
Miss  Claxton  have  just  come  in,  and  will  stay  to 
tea." 

"Just  my  luck,  exactly,"  said  Selina  to  herself. 
"  Somebody  always  gets  my  chance.  I  wanted  to 
walk  home  with  Miss  Armstrong,  and  have  a  nice 
talk  with  her;  and  now  she  will  think  me  a  perfect 
fool.  It  is  all  Sarah  Leet's  fault,  putting  every  thing 
out  of  my  head.  And  now  Aunt  Betsy  has  come,  and 
no  one  else  will  have  a  chance  to  put  in  a  word.  It 
is  too  bad  !  " 


CHAPTER  II. 

NEIGHBORHOOD    NEWS. 

"WELL,"  said  Aunt  Betsy  as  she  finished  butter- 
ing her  biscuit,  and  began  stirring  up  her  tea,  "well, 
and  how  do  you  like  your  school  ? " 

"Very  well,  so  far,"  answered  Miss  Armstrong; 
"but  these  are  early  times,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Aunt  Betsy,  with  a  solemn 
shake  of  the  head.  "  New  brooms  sweep  clean. 
There  was  Malvina  Spencer :  she  was  going  to  do 
great  things,  but  she  almost  broke  up  the  school  with 
her  nonsense.  And  there  was  that  Miss  O'Hara. 
But  what  could  any  one  expect  of  her?"  added  Aunt 
Betsy  with  scornful  emphasis.  "Any  one  might 
have  known  how  it  would  turn  out." 

"  Yes,  it  was  easy  to  see  how  it  would  turn  out," 
said  Mr.  Weston  dryly.  "  So  long  as  so  many  were 
prejudiced  against  her  beforehand,  and  determined 
not  to  see  any  good  in  her,  whatever  she  did,  it  was 
no  great  wonder  she  failed." 

"  Why  were  they  prejudiced  against  her?"  asked 
Miss  Armstrong.  "  She  had  a  pretty  name  in  her 
favor,  and  a  distinguished  one,  if  that  is  any  thing." 

"Pretty,  indeed!"  said  Aunt  Betsy  with  a  sniff. 

25 


26  OLDIJAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  Why,  her  father  was  an  Irishman,  —  just  a  regular 
Irishman,  —  who  came  here,  and  hired  out  to  old 
Judge  Davis  down  at  the  cross-roads.  No,  it  was  to 
Abner  Davis,  up  at  the  Corners,  he  went  first,  come 
to  think.  When  he  had  saved  a  little  money,  he 
bought  the  Mudge  place,  and  mended  up  the  old 
house  so  it  was  quite  smart.  But  he  was  a  regular 
Irishman,  for  all  that,  and  came  from  Ireland,  for  I 
heard  him  say  so ;  and  he  said  he  wasn't  ashamed  of 
it,  that's  more  !  "  And  Aunt  Betsy  looked  triumph- 
antly at  her  host,  as  if  to  defy  him  to  dispute  her 
position. 

"  He  was  a  Protestant,  and  very  regular  at  church 
and  communion  ;  and  he  was  a  clever  man,  too," 
said  Mr.  Weston,  using  the  word  "clever"  in  its 
New-England  sense.  "I  remember  how  he  used  to 
do  your  chores  for  you,  Aunt  Betsy,  when  Uncle  Jona- 
than had  the  fever." 

Aunt  Betsy  became  suddenly  busy  with  her  tea. 

"But  what  had  the  fact  of  Miss  O'Hara's  being 
Irish  to  do  with  her  success  in  the  school  ? "  asked 
Miss  Armstrong. 

"  Well,  you  see,  it  rather  set  people  against  her," 
answered  Miss  Celia,  a  mild  elderly  lady,  who  had 
not  yet  spoken.  "We  think  a  great  deal  of  descent 
in  these  parts,  Miss  Armstrong ;  and  though  I  had 
nothing  against  Miss  O'Hara  myself, — indeed,  I 
always  thought  her  a  very  nice  girl,  — yet  it  did  not 
seem  as  if  she  were  a  fit  person  to  be  set  over  chil- 
dren whose  ancestors  are  buried  all  over  Oldfield 
County,  —  the  daughter  of  a  new-come-over  Irish- 
man." 


NEIGHBORHOOD   NEWS.  2J 

"According  to  that,  our  first  teachers  in  this  coun- 
try must  all  have  been  very  unsuitable  persons,"  said 
Mrs.  Weston.  "They  were  all  new-come-over  then, 
you  know." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Miss  Celia.  "Really,  cousin 
Abby,  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  looked  upon  it  in 
that  light.  Certainly,  we  were  all  new-come-over 
once,  —  at  least,  our  ancestors  were,  unless  they  were 
Indians  like  old  Abner  Kettle." 

"  Indians,  indeed !  I  wonder  at  you,  Celia  Clax- 
ton,"  said  Aunt  Betsy  indignantly.  "You,  whose 
grandfathers  and  great-grandfathers  are  buried  in 
this  very  graveyard,  to  compare  yourself  to  old 
Abner  Kettle,  whose  daughter  married  a  Feejee 
Islander  or  something  like  that !  But,  as  to  the 
school,  I  am  glad  Miss  Armstrong  likes  it ;  though 
these  are  new  times,  as  I  said.  There  are  some 
dreadful  wild  girls  in  the  district.  There's"  — 

"  Excuse  me,  Aunt  Betsy  ;  but  suppose  we  leave 
Miss  Armstrong  to  find  out  for  herself,"  interposed  Mr. 
Weston.  "What  is  this  I  hear  about  the  stone  house? 
It  seems  we  are  to  have  new  neighbors  before  long." 

Aunt  Betsy  tossed  her  head,  but  the  bait  was  too 
tempting  not  to  be  taken. 

"Why,  yes,  haven't  you  heard?  Of  course  you 
know  all  about  it,  Celia.  You  have  a  right  if  any 
one  has  ;  for  that  place  ought  to  belong  to  you  and 
Delia,  if  every  one  had  their  dues." 

"We  have  never  laid  the  least  claim  to  it,"  said 
Miss  Celia  calmly.  "  Richard  Van  Zandt  was  only 
a  very  distant  relation,  and  we  had  no  expectations 
whatever  from  him." 


28  OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  Not  in  that  Mne,  perhaps,"  said  Aunt  Betsy 
with  an  ill-natured  laugh.  Miss  Celia's  fair  old 
face  flushed  a  little,  but  she  took  no  notice  of  the 
remark.  "  Anyhow,  Dick  was  your  mother's  own 
second  cousin,  if  you  call  that  very  distant.  I 
don't." 

"  It  is  not  very  near,  at  any  rate,"  said  Miss  Celia. 
"We  were  always  friendly  with  Richard,  but  we 
saw  nothing  of  him  for  many  years.  His  sister-in- 
law,  Mrs.  Barbara  Van  Zandt,  was  very  kind  to  him, 
and  he  died  at  her  house ;  so  it  is  no  wonder  he  left 
his  property  to  her.  Delia  and  myself  would  hardly 
have  known  what  to  do  with  such  a  house.  It  would 
have  been  a  great  trouble  to  us." 

"  You  would  have  known  what  to  do  with  the 
money,  though." 

"  We  have  enough,"  said  Miss  Celia  with  dignity, 
"and  that  is  as  good  as  a  feast." 

"  I  don't  suppose  there  was  much  money  in  the 
case,"  observed  Mr.  Weston.  "  Dick  Van  Zandt  was 
never  rich,  and  he  was  one  who  gave  away  with  both 
hands  whatever  he  had.  I  understand  from  Squire 
Davis  that  the  place  was  left  to  Mrs.  Van  Zandt,  who 
is  very  wealthy,  on  condition  that  it  should  be  kept 
up,  and  that  some  member  of  the  family  should  now 
and  then  spend  a  summer  there." 

"  Yes  :  the  old  lady  and  two  or  three  of  her  nieces 
or  grand-nieces  are  coming  pretty  soon,  so  Aunt 
Aggy  told  me,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "I  was  up  there 
yesterday,  and  found  her  sweeping  and  clearing  up  at 
a  great  rate.  She  took  me  through  the  house,  and  it 
was  quite  a  wonder  to  see  the  order  it  was  in.  I  would 


NEIGHBORHOOD   NEWS.  2$ 

not  have  believed  it  had  stood  empty  so  long.  Even 
the  carpets  looked  as  good  as  new." 

"The  house  was  handsomely  furnished,  to  begin 
with.  And  was  Aggy  pleased  with  the  prospect?" 
asked  Miss  Celia,  much  interested. 

"  Oh,  yes !  She  says  she  and  Mrs. .Van  Zandt  were 
girls  together." 

"  Mrs.  Van  Zandt's  father  was  a  Butler,  I  know ;  but 
her  mother  was  a  Bogardus,  and  connected  with  all  the 
Dutch  folks  over  there  in  Rockvale,"  said  Aunt  Betsy, 
who  was  very  strong  in  the  matter  of  genealogy. 

"  I  have  heard  that  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  is  a  very  nice 
lady,"  observed  Mrs.  Weston. 

"  She  is,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  I  know  her  well. 
And  I  am  glad  she  is  coming  here :  she  is  a  blessing 
wherever  she  goes." 

"  Do  tell !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Betsy.  "  Real  liberal 
with  her  money,  I  expect." 

"Yes,  and  better  than  that,  —  very  kind  and  judi- 
cious with  it." 

"  She  won't  have  very  nice  neighbors  on  one  side, 
at  any  rate,"  said  Aunt  Betsy.  "  1  shouldn't  like  to 
live  next  to  those  Mallorys." 

•'  I  don't  suppose  they  will  trouble  her  very  much, 
unless  the  poor  woman  gets  one  of  her  screaming 
fits,"  said  Miss  Celia.  "  Is  it  true  that  the  little  girl 
—  Kitty,  or  whatever  her  name  is  —  comes  to  school, 
Miss  Armstrong?" 

"  Yes,  she  was  at  school  to-day  ;  and  a  very  bright, 
interesting  child  she  seems." 

"Well,  I  don't  think  it  ought  to  be  allowed,"  said 
Aunt  Betsy  :  "her  folks  are  regular  infidels." 


30  OLD  HAM;   OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"So  she  tells  me." 

"  She  doesn't  know  the  Lord's  Prayer :  she  said  so 
to-day,"  observed  Selina.  "  She  said  her  folks  didn't 
believe  in  such  things." 

"  Just  so.  Who  knows  what  mischief  the  children 
may  learn  of  her?" 

"  I  do  not  think  there  is  much  danger  in  that 
direction,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "From  what  little 
talk  I  had  with  her  to-day,  I  should  say  Kitty  is 
rather  a  heathen  than  an  unbeliever :  she  is  as  igno- 
rant of  the  Christian  religion  as  any  little  South-sea 
Islander.  But  she  seemed  much  interested  in  what  I 
told  her.  It  would  be  a  great  pity  to  deprive  her  of 
any  chance,  when  she  has  so  few.  How  does  it  hap- 
pen that  a  family  like  the  Mallorys  should  be  found 
in  such  a  place  as  this  ? " 

"  Well,  as  to  that,  you  know  there  are  heathen 
everywhere,"  replied  Mr.  Weston.  "  Tom  Mallory, 
the  grandfather,  was  a  great  disciple  and  admirer 
of  Tom  Paine.  Phin  was  always  a  wild  fellow.  But 
the  women  of  the  family  were  communicants  of  the 
Church,  and  old  Tom  never  interfered  with  them  ;  he 
said  religion  was  a  safe  plaything  for  women.  And,  to 
do  him  justice,  he  was  really  kind  to  his  daughter-in- 
law  and  her  boy,  for  Phin's  father  was  killed  before  he 
was  born.  Phin  went  away  West,  and  nobody  heard 
any  thing  about  him  till  he  came  back  and  took  pos- 
session of  the  place  last  fall,  when  the  old  man  died. 
There  was  another  grandson,  who  was  a  favorite  with 
old  Tom,  and  some  say  the  farm  was  left  to  him  ;  but 
he  has  never  turned  up,  and  Phin  says  he  died  out 
West." 


NEIGHBORHOOD   NEWS.  31 

"  Maybe  Phin  murdered  him,  to  get  the  property," 
said  Aunt  Betsy.  "  Who  knows  ?  " 

"  Nobody  knows,  and  therefore  we  won't  suppose 
so,"  said  Mr.  Weston  somewhat  sharply.  "  He  and 
Phin  were  always  good  friends.  I  always  supposed 
Kit  was  his  child,  but  Phin  says  she  is  not  related 
to  them  at  all.  He  says  Symantha  took  a  fancy  to 
her,  and  adopted  her." 

"  Yes,  that  is  very  likely,  that  she  would  go  adopt- 
ing a  child,"  said  Aunt  Betsy.  "  Depend  upon  it, 
there's  more  than  that  about  it." 

"  Melissa  says  they  took  her  out  of  the  poor- 
house,"  said  Selina. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  much  to  say  to  Melissa  if  I 
were  you,"  observed  Mrs.  Weston.  "  Well,  ladies,  if 
you  have  finished  your  tea,  we  will  go  into  the  other 
/oom,  where  it  is  cooler.  —  You  may  clear  the  table, 
and  put  away  the  things,  Selina  ;  and  I  will  help  you 
with  the  dishes  by  and  by." 

"Yes,  that  is  always  the  way,"  muttered  Selina: 
"always  something  to  remind  me  that  I  am  not  one 
of  the  family."  It  did  not  occur  to  Selina,  that,  if 
she  had  been  one  of  the  family,  the  same  work  would 
naturally  have  fallen  to  her  share.  She  had  lately 
taken  to  looking  out  for  affronts ;  and  affronts  are  like 
the  spooks  of  the  old  Dutch  proverb,  —  those  who  go 
to  look  for  them  can  always  find  them. 

"  You  are  going  to  have  other  neighbors  this  sum- 
mer," remarked  Miss  Celia  as  she  took  out  her  com- 
pany knitting,  a  child's  fine  white  stocking.  "The 
Richmonds  are  coming  back  to  Mrs.  Gleason's." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston  exchanged  looks  which  were 


32  OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

not  by  any  means  expressive  of  joy.  "  I  thought 
they  said  last  summer  they  would  not  come  again," 
said  Mrs.  Weston. 

"  It  seems  they  have  changed  their  minds ;  for 
Agnes  Gleason  told  me  she  had  just  taken  from  the 
office  a  letter  from  Miss  Amelia  Richmond,  in  which 
she  announced  her  mother's  intention  of  passing  the 
summer  months  in  this  neighborhood,  and  entering 
into  negotiations  for  Mrs.  Gleason's  rooms.  I  con- 
fess I  was  sorry  to  hear  it.  I  do  not  consider  the 
influence  of  that  family  a  very  desirable  one  in  this 
neighborhood." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  cousin  Celia,"  said  Mrs. 
Weston.  "  I  am  sorry  they  are  coming  back.  I  do 
not  think  the  rush  of  summer  boarders  we  have  had 
of  late  years  has  been  any  special  advantage,  as  you 
say." 

"They  bring  a  deal  of  money  with  them,  if  that  is 
all,"  said  Aunt  Betsy,  clicking  her  needles  in  a  very 
different  style  from  Miss  Cclia's  rapid,  noiseless  man- 
ner of  working. 

"That  is  not  quite  all." 

"And  I  don't  think  they  have  done  Agnes  Gleason 
any  harm,"  continued  Aunt  Betsy:  "she  perfectly 
hates  Milly  Richmond." 

"  It  is  not  very  good  for  us  to  perfectly  hate  peo- 
ple," said  Mrs.  Weston,  smiling.  "I  hope  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt's  family  will  not  be  like  the  Richmonds." 

"  'Tain't  likely  we  shall  have  a  chance  to  see  what 
they  are  like,"  said  Aunt  Betsy.  "I  hear  they  hold 
their  heads  very  high.  The  pride  of  those  Dutch 
folks  in  their  families  is  perfectly  ridiculous." 


HZ.IGHBORHOOD   NEWS.  33 

"  For  the  matter  of  that,  we  think  a  good  deal  of 
our   families    in    these    parts,"    said    Mrs.    Weston, 
smiling. 
•     "That  is  different,"  returned  Aunt  Betsy. 

"  From  what  I  know  of  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  and  her 
nieces,  I  venture  to  predict  that-  you  will  see  them 
in  Sunday  school  the  very  first  Sunday,"  said  Miss 
Armstrong. 

"Then  I  think  they  might  just  as  well  wait  till 
they  are  asked,"  retorted  Aunt  Betsy.  "  We  don't 
want  city  folks  poking  in  their  noses,  and  finding 
fault  with  their  betters,  and  with  folks  old  enough 
to  be  their  mothers ; "  all  of  which  Aunt  Betsy  de- 
livered with  a  vengeful  rattle  of  her  knitting-needles, 
and  a  glance  at  Miss  Armstrong  which  seemed  to 
include  her  in  the  number  of  obnoxious  "city  folks." 

"  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  is  a  Christian  woman,  then  ? " 
asked  Miss  Celia. 

"  That  she  is,  and  a  very  excellent  and  energetic 
one,"  answered  Miss  Armstrong.  "  It  is  the  delight 
of  her  life  to  fit  up  boxes  for  missionaries  and  their 
families.  I  have  known  her  to  buy  four  or  five  dozen 
each  of  napkins,  towels,  sheets,  and  so  forth,  have 
them  all  hemmed  by  hand  by  some  poor  old  ladies 
she  knows  (for  she  has  never  become  reconciled  to 
machine  work),  and  within  a  month  send  them  all  to 
different  missionaries'  wives  in  the  West  and  South, 
or  in  the  city.  My  only  wonder  is,  that  she  can 
make  up  her  mind  to  remove  so  far  from  her  beloved 
shops." 

"Well,  I  didn't  suppose  there  were  many  people  of 
that  kind  in  New  York,"  said  Aunt  Betsy.  "  I  sup- 


34  OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

posed  they  were  all  given  up  to  dress  and  fashion 
and  frivolity." 

"  There  are  as  many  good  Christian  people  in 
New  York  as  in  any  place  in  the  world,"  said  Miss 
Armstrong  with  some  emphasis.  "  Why,  Mrs.  Burr, 
who  do  you  suppose  keeps  up  and  manages  all  the 
charities,  —  the  hospitals,  and  missions,  and  schools, 
and  orphan-asylums,  and  nurseries,  and  all  the  rest?" 

Not  having  any  answer  at  hand,  Aunt  Betsy  took 
a  pinch  of  snuff, — a  practice  not  desirable  in  itself, 
but  a  convenience  in  such  cases. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  such  an  account  of  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt,"  said  Miss  Celia,  busily  binding  off  her  heel. 
"  I  felt  disposed  to  like  her,  from  what  I  heard  of 
her  kindness  to  Richard  Van  Zandt  in  his  last  days. 
But  does  not  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  work  at  all,  herself  ? " 

"  She  hems  napkins,  and  knits,"  replied  Miss  Arm- 
strong. "  I  should  say  she  must  use  up  a  hundred 
weight  or  so  of  wool  every  year,  in  one  way  or  an- 
other." 

"That  is  a  great  deal,  almost  two  pounds  a  week," 
said  Miss  Celia,  who  took  every  thing  literally.  "To 
be  sure,  she  may  use  double  wool." 

"Double,  treble,  and  single,  and  every  other  kind. 
She  is  sure  to  wish  to  convert  you  to  the  Welsh 
fashion  of  shaping  heels,  Miss  Celia." 

"There  I  cannot  agree  with  her,"  said  Miss  Celia 
with  emphasis,  and  yet  with  a  little  apology  in  her 
tone,  as  if  she  felt  it  a  liberty  to  disagree  even  with 
an  unknown  Mrs.  Van  Zandt.  "  I  do  not  like  the 
Welsh  heel :  it  is  much  harder  to  run  and  to  mend, 
and  it  wears  no  better." 


NEIGHBORHOOD   NEWS.  35 

"I  wonder  what  has  become  of  Selina,"  said  Mrs. 
Weston,  rising.  She  went  into  the  wide,  airy  kitchen, 
which  served  as  a  dining-room  in  summer,  and  found 
Selina  just  finishing  the  last  of  the  dishes. 

"Why,  rny  dear,  you  need  not  have  washed  the 
dishes,"  said  she.  "  I  told  you  to  put  them  together 
and  leave  them,  and  I  would  help  you." 

"Oh,  I  could  do  them  well  enough  :  it  is  the  hired 
girl's  place,  I  suppose,"  said  Selina  in  a  voice  which 
trembled  in  .spite  of  her. 

Mrs.  Weston  took  no  notice  of  this  speech  for  the 
present.  When  the  company  was  gone,  and  family 
prayers  were  over,  —  a  custom  never  omitted  in  the 
family  in  the  busiest  season,  —  she  followed  Selina  to 
her  own  neat,  pretty  room. 

"Selina,"  said  she  gravely,  "you  have  two  or  three 
times  lately  used  the  expression  'hired  girl.'  I  want 
to  know  what  you  mean  by  it." 

Selina  was  already  growing  ashamed  of  her  ill 
humor.  Perhaps  it  would  be  more  correct  to  say  she 
was  growing  tired  of  it,  more  especially  as  its  exer- 
cise had  deprived  her  of  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the 
remainder  of  Aunt  Betsy's  news.  She  twisted  her 
handkerchief,  and  answered  in  a  somewhat  embar- 
rassed tone,  — 

"  Oh,  well,  every  one  knows  what  a  hired  girl  is." 

"A  hired  girl,  as  I  understand  it,  is  a  woman  who 
works  for  money  in  a  place  which  is  not  her  home. 
It  is  a  very  useful  calling,  and,  when  faithfully  ful- 
filled, worthy  of  the  highest  respect,"  said  Mrs. 
Weston,  who  had  been  a  "  school-ma'am "  herself, 
and  was  habitually  choice  in  her  use  of  words.  "Is 


36  OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

that  your  condition  ?  Do  you  work  for  wages  ?  and 
are  you  in  a  strange  family  ? " 

"  No,  mother,"  answered  Selina  in  a  low  tone. 
Her  better  self  was  getting  the  upper  hand,  but  she 
was  not  quite  ready  to  give  way. 

"  Do  you  think  you  have  more  work  put  upon  you 
than  usually  falls  to  the  eldest  daughter  ?  more  than 
Agnes  Gleason,  for  instance  ?  " 

"I  don't  have  so  much  to  do  as  Agnes,"  replied 
Selina  frankly.  "  She  never  gets  to  school  before 
half-past  nine  when  the  Richmonds  are  staying 
there." 

"And  do  you  think  that  the  things  provided  for 
you  are  given  you  as  wages  ?  Is  this  room,  for  in- 
stance, such  as  people  usually  give  to  servants  ? " 

"No,  mother,"  replied  Selina.  She  paused  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  added  frankly,  "  I  was  cross,  I  sup- 
pose. Something  happened  at  school  which  put  me 
out." 

"And  so  you  came  home  and  revenged  that 
annoyance  on  me  by  saying  something  untrue  to  hurt 
my  feelings.  Was  that  right  ?  " 

"  No,  mother.  But  I  did  not  think  it  was  as  bad 
as  that.  I  am  a  wicked  girl,  and  I  always  shall  be," 
said  Selina,  bursting  into  tears.  "  I  wish  I  had  never 
been  born." 

"  You  will  not  mend  matters  by  looking  at  them  in 
that  way,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "A  little  sober,  honest 
self-examination  and  repentance  will  do  you  more 
good  than  any  amount  of  that  sort  of  passion."  She 
paused  a  moment,  and  then  added  very  seriously,  — 

"Selina,  Mr.  Weston  and  myself  have  treated  you 


NEIGHBORHOOD   NEWS.  37 

as  a  dear  daughter  ever  since  you  came  to  us.  We 
have  tried  our  best  to  make  you  happy  and  good. 
But  for  the  last  year  you  have  made  us  both  very 
uncomfortable." 

14 1  don't  see  how,"  murmured  Selina. 

"  You  can  see  well  enough  if  you  choose,"  replied 
Mrs.  Weston.  "  Your  father  is  very  much  displeased 
with  you ;  and  though  we  shall  never  cast  you  off, 
more  than  if  you  were  our  own,  I  fear,  unless  you  turn 
over  a  new  leaf,  we  shall  have  to  make  some  different 
arrangement.  My  dear  girl,  why  won't  you  trust 
your  best  friends,  and  try  to  be  what  they  would  have 
you  ? " 

Selina  sobbed  that  she  was  very  sorry ;  and  Mrs. 
Weston,  thinking  she  had  said  enough,  kissed  her 
good-night,  and  left  her.  Selina,  left  alone,  cried  for 
some  time  longer,  told  herself  how  hard  it  was  to  be 
an  orphan  cast  on  the  cold  charities  of  the  world,  and 
shed  a  great  many  tears,  as  she  imagined  to  the 
memory  of  the  mother  she  had  never  seen.  Then, 
growing  tired  of  this  mood,  she  said  to  herself  that  no 
doubt  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston  meant  to  be  kind  to  her 
in  their  way,  and  that  it  was  her  duty  to  be  grateful. 
She  would  show  that  she  was  so,  by  being  amiable 
and  affectionate,  and  bearing  the  trials  of  her  lot 
patiently.  If  her  own  dear  mother  had  lived,  it  would 
have  been  very  different ;  but,  as  it  was,  she  must  be 
resigned.  And,  feeling  by  this  time  very  virtuous 
indeed,  she  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER   III. 

KIT   AT   HOME. 

KIT  MALLORY  went  swiftly  over  the  high  pasture 
till  she  reached  the  little  spring ;  and  then,  taking  an 
oblique  direction,  she  descended  till  she  came  to  an  old 
wooden  house  standing  on  the  lowest  ridge  or  terrace 
of  the  hill.  It  had  once  been  a  roomy,  comfortable 
farmhouse,  with  a  well-house,  sheds,  and  barns;  but 
the  buildings  were  out  of  repair,  and  the  whole  place 
looked  as  if  it  had  suffered  from  a  long  course  of 
neglect.  Nevertheless,  the  stones  at  the  back-door 
were  white  and  clean,  and  the  windows  bright ;  and  a 
row  of  milk-pans  turned  up  on  a  shelf  showed  that 
some  one  in  the  house  was  neat  and  pains-taking. 
The  back-door  stood  open  ;  and,  as  Kit  approached,  a 
middle-aged  woman  appeared  in  it,  making  a  sign  for 
silence.  She  was  tall  and  dark,  and  would  have  been 
handsome  but  for  the  look  of  hopeless  weariness  and 
despondency  which  had  settled  on  her  face. 

"  Is  aunt  Martha  bad  again  ? "  asked  Kit  in  a 
whisper. 

"Yes,  I  have  had  a  terrible  time  with  her  all  the 
afternoon.  She  has  just  dropped  asleep,  and  I  hope 


KIT  AT  HOME.  39 

she  will  not  wake  for  a  good  long  while.  What  kept 
you  so  late  ?  " 

Kit  gave  a  short  account  of  herself. 

"  That  was  all  right,"  said  Symantha.  "  Is  Miss 
Armstrong  a  nice  lady?" 

"  She  is  just  lovely ! "  answered  Kit  with  enthusiasm. 

"  I  hope  she  will  be  a  good  friend  to  you.  You  must 
try  to  learn  all  you  can,  and  make  the  most  of  your 
time  while  we  are  here." 

"Ain't  we  going  to  stay  here,  then  ?  "  asked  Kit  in 
a  tone  of  anxiety  and  disappointment.  "  I  thought 
uncle  Phin  owned  this  place." 

"So  he  does  —  at  least — yes,  I  suppose  he  does," 
answered  Symantha  with  a  curious  tone  of  hesitation, 
which  made  Kit  look  at  her  in  surprise.  "  But  I  have 
moved  so  many  times,  and  about  every  time  for  the 
worse,  that  I  don't  believe  I  shall  ever  feel  settled 
any  where.  What  nice  apples ! "  she  added,  as  if 
hastening  to  change  the  conversation.  "  Where  did 
you  get  them?" 

"  Mr.  Weston  gave  them  to  me,  and  I  brought  them 
home  for  aunt  Martha.  Where  are  all  the  folks  ?" 

"  Pa  'has  gone  over  to  Oldbury  after  a  load  of 
lumber.  And  Melissa  is  down  at  the  Corners,  I 
suppose :  I  haven't  seen  her  since  morning.  She 
always  goes  away  if  she  can,  you  know,  when  ma  gets 
one  of  her  bad  times  ;  and  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well." 

"  How  tired  you  look!"  said  Kit.  She  hesitated 
a  moment ;  and  then,  postponing  a  plan  she  had 
meant  to  put  in  execution  as  soon  as  she  reached 
home,  she  added,  "You  lie  down  and  rest,  and  let 
me  get  the  supper.  I  can  do  it  as  well  as  not." 


40  OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"Well,  you  may  if  you  like,"  replied  Symantha. 
"You  are  a  good  little  thing,  Kit.  I  don't  know 
what  I  should  do  without  you  sometimes."  As  she 
spoke  her  face  softened  ;  and  she  bent  down  and 
kissed  Kit,  who  returned  the  embrace  with  interest. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  without 
you,"  said  she.  "If  it  wasn't  for  you,  I'd  run  away 
and  seek  my  fortune." 

"Hush,"  said  Symantha  sharply.  "Don't  ever  let 
father  hear  you  say  such  a  thing  as  that :  I  don't 
know  what  he  would  do  to  you.  Yes,  you  may  get 
the  supper  ready,  and  I  will  rest  till  milking-time." 

Left  to  herself,  Kit  went  about  her  work,  doing 
every  thing  with  marvellous  quickness  and  quiet- 
ness. Just  as  she  had  finished  her  preparations,  she 
heard  the  sound  of  wheels  and  horses'  feet ;  and  pres- 
ently a  man  entered  the  back  kitchen.  Kit  made  a 
sign  for  silence. 

"Where's  Symantha?"  was  the  first  question. 

"  She's  lying  down.  Please  don't  make  such  a 
noise,  uncle  Phin  :  aunt  Martha  has  just  gone  to 
sleep." 

"  Has  she  had  a  bad  time  ? " 

Kit  nodded. 

"Where's  Melissa?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  haven't  seen  her.  Symantha 
says  she  has  gone  to  the  Corners." 

"  I'll  teach  her  to  run  off  and  leave  all  the  work 
for  her  sister,"  muttered  Phin  Mallory  to  himself; 
and  then  aloud,  "Here,  child,  here's  a  reader  and 
spelling-book  for  you.  Halloo,  what's  that  ?  " 

"A   picture-paper,    I   guess,"    said    Kit;   "and   a 


KIT  AT  HOME.  41 

little  book,"  she  added,  taking  out  of  the  parcel  an 
illustrated  Sunday-school  paper,  and  a  copy  of  that 
time-honored  tract,  "The  Shepherd  of  Salisbury 
Plain,"  with  a  pretty  woodcut  on  the  cover.  Mr. 
Sandford  at  Oldbury  was  fond  of  this  method  of 
sowing  seed,  and  seldom  sold  a  book  or  parcel  of 
books  without  putting  in  some  similar  document  to 
that  which  Kit  held  in  her  hand. 

"What  stuff  is  that  ?"  said  Phin.  "I'll  teach  old 
Sandford  to  be  sending  his  rubbish  into  my  house." 
He  made  a  step  toward  the  stove  as  he  spoke,  as  if 
to  throw  the  papers  into  the  fire. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  burn  them  up,"  entreated  Kit, 
holding  his  hand.  "  I  don't  hardly  ever  see  a  pic- 
ture, and  these  are  so  pretty.  Please  let  me  have 
them." 

Phin  still  held  the  papers  over  the  fire ;  but  some- 
thing in  the  pleading,  upturned  face  seemed  to  move 
him,  for  he  put  them  into  her  hand. 

"  Here,  child,  take  them,  then.  You  don't  see 
many  pretty  things,  that's  a  fact.  There,  put  the 
supper  on  the  table ;  I'll  be  back  in  a  minute." 

Kit  carried  her  prizes  off  in  triumph  to  her  own 
little  room  up  stairs,  and  hid  them  away  till  she 
should  have  leisure  to  examine  them.  Then  she 
hastened  to  finish  her  supper  preparations,  and  had 
a  comfortable  meal  ready  on  the  table  when  Phin 
returned.  He  was  a  lithe,  alert  little  man,  looking 
as  if  he  had  seen  some  hard  times  and  some  dissipa- 
tion ;  and  there  was  a  watchful,  furtive  expression  in 
his  face,  not  pleasant  to  see. 

"So  you  got  beat  out,"  said  he  to  Symantha,  as 


42  OLD  HAM;    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

she  appeared  and  took  her  seat  at  the  table.  "It 
was  too  bad  in  Melissa  to  run  off  and  leave  you  with 
all  the  work.  I'll  tell  her  what  I  think  about  it 
when  she  comes  home." 

"  She  is  just  as  well  out  of  the  way  when  ma  has 
one  of  her  bad  times,"  replied  Symantha.  "  But  I 
don't  see  how  any  one  can  like  to  go  visiting  so,  for- 
ever. I  like  to  let  other  folks  alone,  and  have  them 
let  me  alone." 

"  Yes,  you  and  pa  would  like  to  shut  me  up  from 
one  year's  end  to  another,"  said  Melissa,  speaking  for 
herself,  as  she  came  into  the  room  with  her  hat  on. 
"It  has  always  been  just  so.  But  I'm  not  going  to 
stand  it.  I  like  company,  and  I'm  going  to  have  it, 
so  there!  —  Kit,  take  my  things  up  stairs,  and  get 
me  a  chair." 

"Sit  still,  Kit,"  said  her  father.  "You  just  wait 
on  yourself,  my  girl.  Kit  has  been  at  work  while 
you  have  been  at  play." 

Melissa  muttered  something,  but  it  seemed  as  if 
she  did  not  care  to  provoke  a  dispute.  She  threw 
her  hat  and  shawl  into  a  corner,  and  took  a  seat  at 
the  table. 

"We're  going  to  have  new  neighbors  at  the  stone 
house,"  said  she  after  a  little  silence,  "  some  people 
from  New  York,  —  Van  Zandt,  or  some  such  name." 

"  It  was  a  Van  Zandt  that  owned  it  before,"  re- 
marked Symantha. 

"  Yes  ;  he  has  left  it  to  some  old  lady  in  New 
York,  and  she  is  going  to  have  it  all  fixed  up  for  a 
summer  house.  She  has  got  no  end  of  money,  and 
is  going  to  bring  her  horses  and  servants  and  car- 


KIT  AT  HOME.  43 

riages,  and  some  young  ladies,  from  New  York ;  so 
we  shall  have  quite  a  gay  time." 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  shall  have  much  to  do  with 
it,"  said  Symantha.  "I  don't  suppose  you  mean  to 
go  and  call  on  them,  do  you  ? " 

"Why  not?"  asked  Melissa.  "I  should  just  like 
to  know." 

"Because  I  say  you  sha'n't,  and  that's  enough!" 
exclaimed  her  father,  striking  the  table  with  his  hand 
so  as  to  make  all  the  dishes  rattle.  "  I  won't  have 
you  go  near  them,  do  you  hear  ?  not  one  of  them. 
You  mind  me,  too,  Kit :  don't  you  go  near  the 
house." 

"  Don't,  pa  ;  you  will  wake  mother,"  said  Syman- 
tha. 

"  Dear  me,  what  a  fuss  about  nothing ! "  said  Me- 
lissa. "  One  would  think  pa  thought  these  people 
had  the  small-pox,  or  that  he  was  afraid  they  would 
find  out  something." 

Phin  gave  his  daughter  such  a  menacing  glance 
that  she  evidently  thought  it  better  to  say  no  more, 
and  the  meal  was  finished  in  silence.  Kit  washed 
the  dishes,  brought  in  wood,  and  arranged  matters 
for  the  next  morning.  By  that  time  it  was  dark,  and 
she  was  weary  enough  to  go  to  bed.  Tired  as  she 
was,  she  did  not  forget  to  take  out  the  card  Miss 
Armstrong  had  given  her,  and  read  over  the  little 
prayer.  She  stood  for  a  moment  after  she  had  fin- 
ished, as  if  thinking,  and  then  said,  half  aloud,  — 

"  Please,  our  Father  in  heaven,  I  should  like  to 
have  a  Bible."  Then  she  crept  into  bed,  and  was 
asleep  in  a  minute. 


44  OLDHAM;   OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

The  next  morning  Kit  was  up  early,  so  early  that 
the  sun  was  only  just  gilding  the  very  top  of  Blue 
Mountain.  Nobody  else  was  stirring  in  the  house. 
It  was  a  good  time  to  put  her  plan  into  execution. 

There  was  a  large,  high  garret  to  the  old  house,  in 
which  was  stored  the  accumulated  rubbish  of  a  hun- 
dred years.  Here  was  a  tall  eight-day  clock,  the  case 
of  which  would  have  thrown  a  collector  into  ecsta- 
sies, side  by  side  with  a  broken  and  disused  loom ; 
there,  a  shelf  full  of  bottles  and  more  or  less  disabled 
crockery.  A  little  room  was  roughly  partitioned  off 
at  one  end,  and  made  a  famous  playing-place  on  a 
rainy  day.  It  was  in  this  garret  that  Kit  had  found 
her  precious  fragment  of  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress" 
lying  on  the  top  of  a  box  full  of  old  books  and 
papers.  It  had  occurred  to  her  that  in  this  same  box 
she  might  possibly  find  a  Bible. 

She  took  oat  the  volumes  one  by  one,  and  looked 
at  the  titles.  They  were  mostly  old  books  of  theol- 
ogy and  collections  of  sermons  ;  but  there  were  two 
or  three  volumes  of  travels  and  memoirs,  which 
looked,  Kit  thought,  as  though  they  might  be  inter- 
esting, and  she  laid  them  aside  for  future  considera- 
tion. At  last,  near  the  bottom  of  the  box,  she  found 
a  small  volume  handsomely  bound  and  closely  printed. 
She  looked  at  the  titlepage. 

"The  New  Testament  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour 
Jesus  Christ."  Was  that  the  same  as  the  Bible? 
Kit  thought  so,  but  she  was  not  sure. 

"  I'll  take  it  to  school,  and  show  it  to  Miss  Arm- 
strong. Anyhow,  it  tells  about  Him.  What  is  this, 
I  wonder?  Never  mind,  I  can't  look  at  it  now." 


KIT  A  T  HOME.  45 

Kit  brushed  the  dust  from  her  dress,  washed  her 
face  and  hands,  and  sat  down  to  examine  her  ne\v 
treasure.  The  first  chapter  seemed  to  be  all  hard 
names,  so  she  opened  about  the  middle  of  the  book, 
and  read  about  the  shepherds  who  were  watching 
their  flocks  by  night,  and  were  sent  by  the  angels  to 
find  the  babe  lying  in  the  manger,  who  was  Christ 
the  Lord.  She  read  slowly,  and  had  to  spell  some 
words ;  but  the  story  lost  nothing  of  its  force  by 
that. 

"The  very  one  Miss  Armstrong  was  talking  about," 
said  Kit.  "How  strange!  If  he  was  a  little  baby 
once,  and  grew  up  into  a  man  afterward,  there  must 
have  been  a  time  when  he  was  just  as  old  as  I  am 
now." 

Kit  had  no  time  to  follow  out  her  meditations.  A 
call  from  below  summoned  her. 

"  You  can't  go  to  school  to-day,"  was  the  saluta- 
tion which  met  her  as  she  entered  the  kitchen. 
"  Symantha's  sick,  or  thinks  she  is,  and  I  want  you 
to  help  me." 

"Oh,  dear!  and  I  did  want  to  go  so  much  !  "  said 
Kit.  "Can't  you  do  without  me,  Melissa?  I  hate  to 
be  so  irregular." 

"  Let  her  go,  Melissa,"  said  Symantha's  voice  from 
the  little  bedroom.  "  I  sha'n't  want  any  thing.  I 
dare  say  I  shall  be  able  to  get  up  presently ;  it  is 
only  one  of  my  dizzy  headaches." 

"Yes,  that  is  very  likely,  —  that  she  is  going  to 
school,  leaving  me  with  you  and  ma  to  wait  on,  and 
all  the  work  to  do.  I  don't  believe  pa  will  let  her  go, 
anyway,  when  he  finds  out  about  Miss  Armstrong. 


46  OLDHAM;   OR,   BESTDE   ALL    WATERS. 

They  say  she  is  a  regular  Methodist,  has  prayers  in 
school,  and  teaches  the  children  out  of  the  Bible. 
I  mean  to  tell  pa  about  it;  and  then  he  won't  let  you 
go  at  all,  Miss  Kit,  and  serve  you  right  too." 

Kit  was  used  to  Melissa's  tongue,  and  generally 
gave  her  back  her  sharp  words  with  interest ;  but 
the  prospect  of  losing  her  precious  schooling  and  the 
society  of  her  new  friend  was  too  dreadful,  and  she 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Hush,  Kit ;  don't  cry,"  said  Symantha,  raising 
her  head,  but  obliged  to  drop  it  again.  "  Pa  won't 
take  you  out  of  school.  Oh,  my  head  !  " 

"  Is  it  so  very  bad  ? "  asked  Kit,  forgetting  her 
own  trouble  for  the  moment.  "  Can't  I  do  any  thing 
for  you  ? " 

"  You  may  look  in  the  front-room  cupboard,  and 
see  if  you  can  find  the  alcohol  bottle,"  said  Syman- 
tha, pressing  her  hand  over  her  eyes.  "  I  had  it  up 
there,  I  know." 

Kit  sped  up  stairs,  and  found  the  bottle.  As  she 
passed  the  door  of  her  own  little  room,  she  remem- 
bered her  prayer  of  last  night,  and  also  that  she  had 
forgotten  her  promise  to  say  one  in  the  morning. 

"  What  a  shame ! "  she  said  to  herself.  "  And 
when  He  was  so  good,  and  gave  me  the  Testament." 
She  went  into  her  room,  shut  the  door,  and  reverently 
repeated  her  little  verse, 

"  Gentle  Jesus,  meek  and  mild, 
Look  upon  a  little  child; 
Pity  my  simplicity ; 
Suffer  me  to  come  to  Thee." 


KIT  AT  HOME.  47 

"Jesus!  That  is  the  very  one  I  was  reading 
about,  —  that  very  one  that  was  a  little  baby.  I 
wonder  if  He  ever  had  to  do  things  he  didn't  like. 
Perhaps  He  had  to  stay  at  home  sometimes  to  help 
His  mother,  but  I  don't  believe  she  was  one  bit  like 
Melissa.  But  they  were  poor,  I  guess,  and  He  must 
have  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  in  His  life ;  so  He 
knows  all  about  it.  Perhaps  He  would  like  it  if  I 
was  good-natured,  and  staid  at  home."  Kit  had  not 
been  gone  ten  minutes  when  she  came  back  with  the 
bottle,  and  set  herself  to  bathe  Symantha's  head  and 
brush  her  hair ;  but  in  that  ten  minutes  a  great 
change  had  come  over  her.  She  had  entered  into  a 
new  life.  The  little  untaught,  ignorant  heathen  had 
found  her  Saviour,  had  entered  into  conscious  rela- 
tions with  Him,  and  made  a  sacrifice  for  Him.  The 
little  seed  dropped  by  a  skilful  sower  into  her  heart 
had  taken  root  and  sprung  up.  The  plant  was  young 
and  tender  as  yet,  one  would  say,  easily  crushed  by  a 
careless  foot,  or  nibbled  off  by  some  passing  animal  ; 
but  ONE  was  watching  over  it  who  is  greater  than  all 
the  changes  and  chances  of  this  mortal  life,  and  who 
makes  them  all  work  together  for  good  to  them  that 
love  Him. 

Kit  said  no  more  about  going  to  school.  She  went 
into  her  aunt's  room,  washed  her  face  and  hands, 
and  coaxed  her  to  drink  a  cup  of  coffee  and  eat  a  bit 
of  toast.  Mrs.  Mallory  must  once  have  been  a  beau- 
tiful woman,  judging  by  her  regular  features  and  still 
fair  complexion ;  but  her  hair  was  streaked  with 
gray,  her  large  dark-blue  eyes,  very  much  like  Kit's 
in  shape  and  color,  were  wild  and  wandering,  and 


48  OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

she  had  a  despairing,  anxious  expression,  pitiful  to 
see. 

"  There,  that  is  real  good,"  said  Kit,  speaking  as 
one  would  to  a  sick  and  wayward  child.  "  Now  you 
shall  have  a  nice  apple." 

She  produced  one  of  the  apples  she  had  brought 
from  Mr.  Weston's,  and  the  poor  woman  took  it 
with  some  show  of  pleasure.  Something  about  Kit 
seemed  to  arrest  her  attention,  for  she  held  the 
child's  hand,  and  looked  earnestly  into  her  face. 

"  Who  are  you,  little  girl  ?  Haven't  I  seen  you 
somewhere  ? " 

"Why,  yes,  aunt  Martha.  I  am  Kit.  You  re- 
member Kit,  don't  you  ? " 

Mrs.  Mallory  gazed  at  her  a  moment  with  a  gleam 
of  intelligence,  and  then,  dropping  her  hand,  sank 
back  on  her  pillow. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  she.  "  It  all  goes  away  from 
me.  Every  thing  went  when  they  took  Him  away." 

"Well,  never  mind,"  said  Kit  soothingly.  "Eat 
the  nice  apple,  and  by  and  by  you  shall  have  an- 
other." 

Seeing  her  aunt's  attention  diverted  for  the  mo- 
ment, Kit  slipped  from  the  room.  Melissa  was  by 
this  time  in  a  better  humor.  Her  moods  were  very 
much  the  result  of  her  bodily  feelings  ;  and  she  felt 
better,  now  that  she  had  made  her  coffee  as  strong 
as  she  liked  it,  and  eaten  her  breakfast.  Kit  waited 
on  Symantha,  and  brushed  her  hair  softly  till  she  fell 
asleep  ;  got  her  aunt  up  and  dressed  her,  and  brought 
her  some  flowers  from  the  neglected  garden.  The 
last  Mrs.  Mallory  had  been  fond  of  flowers,  and  a 


A'/T  AT  HOME.  49 

few  of  the  hardy  perennials  she  had  planted  still 
struggled  for  existence ;  while  in  one  corner  the  dear 
old-fashioned  rose  of  May,  neglected  and  forgotten 
now,  opened  its  pretty  pointed  buds.  Mrs.  Mallory 
loved  flowers,  and  a  nosegay  would  keep  her  quiet 
and  amused  longer  than  any  thing  else.  Certainly 
Kit  did  her  full  share  of  the  work,  and  more ;  for 
Melissa  was  an  accomplished  shirk,  and,  if  she  did 
not  work  herself,  she  was  the  cause  of  work  in 
others.  Symantha's  nap  carried  off  her  headache, 
and  she  was  able  to  get  up  to  dinner. 

"  Halloo,  what  are  you  doing  here  ? "  asked  Phin 
as  he  came  in  and  found  Kit  dishing  up  the  dinner. 
"  I  thought  you  took  your  dinner  to  school." 

"  I  didn't  go  to  school,"  answered  Kit,  busily  stir- 
ring her  gravy.  "  I  staid  at  home  to  help  Melissa." 

"  Then  don't  do  it  again,  do  you  hear  ? "  said  her 
uncle  angrily.  "  I  am  not  going  to  have  you  staying 
out  of  school  for  every  little  thing." 

"  I  didn't  want  to  stay,  I'm  sure,"  returned  Kit  ; 
and  then,  as  some  thought  crossed  her  mind,  she 
added  in  a  gentler  tone,  "  Symantha  couldn't  sit  up, 
and  Melissa  wanted  me  to  help  her,  so  I  did." 

"  It  wasn't  her  fault,"  added  Symantha  :  "  Melissa 
kept  her.  Kit  was  very  good-natured  about  it,  I 
must  say." 

"  Good-natured  or  not,  it  isn't  to  happen  again.  — 
Do  you  hear,  Melissa?" 

"  Hear  what  ?  "  asked  Melissa  from  the  next  room. 
"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about." 

"Then  I'll  make  you  know,"  said  her  father.  "I 
say  you  are  not  to  keep  the  child  at  home  from  school 


50  OLD  HAM ';    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

for  any  thing  and  every  thing.  I  want  her  to  go 
every  day  this  summer.  I've  taught  school  myself, 
and  I  know  what  a  nuisance  it  is  to  a  teacher  to  have 
scholars  so  irregular.  Mind,  I  won't  have  it  happen 
again." 

"Oh,  of  course  you  won't,"  replied  Melissa  sulkily: 
"you  care  for  every  one  more  than  you  do  for  me. 
Never  mind,  I  am  not  going  to  be  made  a  slave  of 
forever.  I  shall  look  out  for  myself  some  day." 

"  You  do  that  now  pretty  well,"  said  Symantha. 

No  answer  was  returned,  and  the  family  sat  down 
to  dinner. 

"  Did  you  really  keep  school  once,  uncle  Phin  ? " 
asked  Kit. 

"Yes,"  replied  her  uncle,  "when  I  was  a  young 
man  I  taught  one  winter  in  that  very  red  school- 
house.  I  was  a  good  scholar  once,  thanks  to  my 
mother." 

"  Was  your  mother  a  nice  woman  ? "  asked  Kit, 
who  was  always  hungry  for  any  thing  like  a  story. 

"That  she  was,  —  as  good  a  woman  as  ever 
breathed,"  replied  Phin,  his  hard  face  softening  a 
little.  "  She  had  a  great  many  notions  that  I  don't 
believe  in,  but  she  was  just  as  good  as  they  make." 

"  What  a  pity  her  grand-daughters  are  not  like 
her!"  said  Melissa  sarcastically. 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  replied  her  father  dryly. 

"  Perhaps  Kit  may  take  after  her  if  she  keeps  on 
going  to  school,"  continued  Melissa.  "Miss  Arm- 
strong is  very  pious,  teaches  the  children  verses  out 
of  the  Bible,  and  talks  to  them  like  a  Methodist  class- 
leader." 


KIT  AT  HOME.  51 

"Maybe  she  will  have  to  stop  that  some  day," 
said  her  father.  "  But,  anyhow,  the  red  schoolhouse 
is  the  only  one  near  here,  and  Kit  shall  go  to  school 
if  the  teacher  talks  all  through  the  Old  Testament, 
and  the  New  Testament  too." 

"  Am  I  to  go  to  school  this  afternoon  ? "  asked 
Kit  as  Phin  rose  from  the  table. 

"  It  is  hardly  worth  while,  I  guess  :  you  won't 
more  than  get  there  before  school  is  out.  However, 
you  can  do  as  you  like,"  said  Phin. 

Kit  knew  she  should  be  in  time  for  at  least  a  part 
of  the  afternoon  session  ;  so  she  made  herself  tidy, 
and  skipped  a\tay  rejoicing,  her  precious  little  Testa- 
ment safe  in  her  pocket.  She  entered  school  some- 
what out  of  breath,  and  slipped  into  her  seat  as 
quietly  as  possible. 

"You  are  late,  Kitty,  and  you  were  away  this 
morning,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  How  does  that 
happen  ? " 

"  Melissa  kept  me  at  home  to  help  do  the  work," 
answered  Kit.  "  Symantha  had  one  of  her  sick 
headaches,  and  couldn't  sit  up  a  minute.  But  uncle 
Phin  says  I  mustn't  do  it  again.  He  says  it  is  bad 
for  me  and  bad  for  the  teacher." 

"  How  impudent  she  is,  to  answer  Miss  Armstrong 
so !  "  thought  Selina.  An  undefined  feeling  of  anger 
at  Kit  had  been  lurking  in  her  mind  ever  since  the 
day  before,  and  she  was  glad  to  find  something  to 
justify  it.  Miss  Armstrong,  however,  did  not  seem 
the  least  disturbed. 

"Your  uncle  is  right,"  said  she:  "irregular  and 
tardy  scholars  hurt  both  themselves  and  the  school. 


$2  OLD  If  AM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

Now  you  may  take  your  book,  and  study  your  spell- 
ing and  reading  lessons." 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  that  Kit  pro- 
duced her  nice  new  reader  and  spelling-book.  The 
Red  Hill  district  stuck  to  Webster's  spelling-book, 
which  was,  perhaps,  one  reason  why  most  of  the 
children  really  learned  to  spell.  The  day  before,  Kit 
had  been  obliged  to  borrow  her  neighbor's  books, 
which  did  not  please  her  at  all,  for  she  had  an  inde- 
pendent spirit.  She  was  tempted  to  look  at  all  the 
pictures,  and  read  all  the  stories  ;  but  she  reflected 
that  she  could  do  that  as  well  after  school,  and  ap- 
plied herself  to  her  lesson  with  such*  zeal  that  she 
went  up  several  places  in  the  spelling-class.  At 
recess  she  brought  her  books  to  Miss  Armstrong. 

"  Please,  Miss  Armstrong,  will  you  write  my  name 
in  my  new  books  ?  " 

"Certainly,  my  dear.     What  shall  I  write?" 

Kit's  face  darkened  a  little.  "That's  just  the 
trouble,"  said  she.  "  I  hate  '  Keturah,'  and  I  don't 
believe  it  is  my  name  either." 

"  Suppose  we  write  it  '  Kitty,' "  said  Miss  Arm- 
strong :  "  that  is  short  for  Catherine,  but  it  will  do  quite 
as  well  for  Keturah.  But  you  should  not  hate  the  name 
of  Keturah,  my  dear.  She  was  a  great  lady,  I  suppose ; 
at  least,  she  was  the  wife  of  a  very  great  man." 

"  Was  she  ? "  asked  Kit,  much  interested. 

"  Yes  :  she  was  the  second  wife  of  Abraham,  one 
of  the  most  distinguished  men  that  ever  lived.  Abra- 
ham was  called  the  friend  of  God,  and  talked  with 
Him  face  to  face.  So  you  see  Keturah  is  not  a  bad 
name,  after  all." 


KIT  AT  HOME.  53 

"  I  shall  like  it  better,  now  I  know  about  it ;  but  I 
don't  believe  it  is  my  right  name,  for  all  that,"  said 
Kit.  "  But  please,  Miss  Armstrong,  may  I  ask  you 
about  something  else  ?  " 

"After  school,"  said  Miss  Armstrong,  smiling.  "I 
suppose,  Kit,  it  never  occurs  to  you  children  to 
think  that  a  teacher  likes  her  recess,  as  well  as  her 
scholars." 

"  I  am  real  sorry  I  bothered  you,"  said  Kit  peni- 
tently. "  I  won't  say  another  word."  And,  putting 
her  books  away,  she  went  out  to  the  playground, 
where  a  lively  game  was  in  progress. 

"Here  is  Kit;  she'll  be  //,  I  know!"  exclaimed 
Sarah  Leet.  "  You  will,  won't  you,  Kit  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  when  I  know  what  you  are  playing," 
answered  Kit.  "What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"  Oh,  to  be  king.  We  are  playing  king's  land ; 
and  it  is  Selina's  turn,  but  she  won't." 

"  I  will,  and  I'll  catch  you  too,"  said  Kit,  darting 
after  Sarah,  and  catching  her  on  the  verge  of  her 
own  territory.  "There,  I'll  let  you  off,  because  it 
was  not  quite  fair  to  catch  you  before  you  had  time 
to  get  off.  —  Now,  girls,  look  out  for  yourselves." 

"What  a  nice,  good-natured  little  thing  she  is, 
after  all ! "  said  Faith  Fletcher  as  Kit  darted  hither 
and  thither,  always  on  the  watch,  and  turning  up 
where  she  was  least  expected. 

"  Oh,  yes,  very  nice  indeed  !"  said  Selina,  to  whom 
the  remark  was  addressed.  "  I  wonder  how  long  it 
will  last." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  wish  to  spite  the 
poor  little  thing  so,"  said  Sarah.  "I  should  think 


54  OLDHAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

you  would  have  some  feeling  for  her,  trying  so  hard 
to  make  something  of  herself." 

"  I  don't  spite  her,  and  you  have  no  business  to 
say  so,"  said  Selina  angrily. 

"Well,  that's  the  way  it  looks  to  me.  When  a 
person  never  can  say  a  good  word  for  another,  and 
never  likes  to  hear  any  one  else  do  it,  it  looks  a  good 
deal  like  spite.  However,  it  is  no  business  of  mine. 
—  I'm  on  the  king's  land  ;  the  king —  Ah,  you  little 
spirit !  I  might  have  known  you  would  catch  me. 
There  is  the  bell,  so  I  don't  care." 

The  verse  Miss  Armstrong  gave  the  children  that 
evening  was  rather  a  long  one,  —  "  God  so  loved  the 
world,  that  He  gave  His  only  begotten  Son,  that  who- 
soever believeth  in  Him  should  not  perish,  but  have 
everlasting  life"  (St.  John  iii.  16).  She  asked  a  few 
questions,  which  were  answered  intelligently,  even  by 
the  little  children,  though  the  Fletcher  twins  could 
not  tell  where  Christ  was  born. 

"  Sister  is  so  busy,  she  has  hardly  any  time  to 
teach  them,"  said  Faith  apologetically,  after  school ; 
"but  I  thought  they  knew  that." 

"  Cannot  you  teach  them,  Faith  ?  Have  you  no 
time  to  tell  these  little  ones  about  the  Saviour  who 
died  for  them  ?  " 

"They  go  to  Sunday  school  always,"  said  Faith, 
"every  Sunday  unless  it  is  bad  weather." 

"Sunday  schools  are  very  good  things,  but  they 
can  never  take  the  place  of  home  teaching.  Don't 
you  help  them  learn  their  lessons?" 

"There  is  always  so  much  to  do  Sundays  and 
Saturdays,"  answered  Faith.  And  then  she  added 


KIT  AT  HOME.  55 

frankly,  "I  guess  the  truth  is,  I  never  thought  of  it; 
but  I'll  try  to  get  time  before  next  Sunday." 

"Do,"  said  Miss  Armstrong;  "and,  Faith,  when 
you  go  to  bed,  read  the  parable  of  the  sower,  and 
remember  that  the  cares  of  this  world  choke  the 
Word,  and  make  it  unfruitful,  quite  as  often  and  quite 
as  surely  as  the  deceitfulness  of  riches.  Good-night, 
my  child.  —  Now,  Kitty,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ? " 

"  Please,  Miss  Armstrong,  is  the  New  Testament 
part  of  the  Bible  ? "  asked  Kit. 

"Certainly,  my  dear,  and  a  very  important  part. 
It  contains  the  history  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 
Why  ? " 

"  I  was  looking  for  a  Bible  up  in  the  garret,  and  I 
found  this,"  answered  Kit,  producing  her  treasure. 
"  I  read  some  in  it  this  morning  about  Mary  and 
Joseph,  and  the  baby  that  was  Christ  the  Lord.  Was 
He  really  ? " 

"Really  and  truly,  Kitty, — as  really  and  truly  as 
that  He  now  sits  at  the  right  hand  of  God  the  Father, 
ready  to  hear  and  help  us  in  all  our  troubles." 

"That  is  very  strange,"  said  Kit.  "But  I  think 
it  is  lovely,  too,"  she  added,  her  eyes  lighting  up  with 
their  peculiar  sapphire-like  brilliancy.  "Isn't  it  won- 
derful to  think  that  He  knows  all  about  us  ? " 

"The  more  you  know  of  the  matter,  the  more 
strange  and  lovely  it  will  appear  to  you,  my  dear. 
Now,  let  me  advise  you  to  begin  here  at  this  second 
chapter  of  St.  Matthew's  Gospel,  and  read  this  book 
through,  and  at  the  same  time  ask  God  to  teach  you 
to  understand  it." 

"And  will  He?" 


56  OLD  If  AM ';    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  Yes :  He  has  promised  He  will,  and  He  always 
keeps  His  word." 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  glad  of  it,"  said  Kit  in  her  matter- 
of-fact  way  ;  "  because  I  don't  have  any  help  only 
what  you  give  me.  I  can't  go  to  church  and  Sunday 
school,  like  the  others." 

"  If  you  could,  my  dear,  if  you  had  all  the  human 
helps  in  the  world,  you  would  need  God's  help  just 
as  much.  The  most  learned  man  in  the  world  needs 
it  just  as  much  as  you  do.  Now,  see  here ;  I  have 
something  else  for  you.  Here  is  a  card  with  the 
Lord's  Prayer  printed  on  it  in  nice  plain  letters  ;  I 
want  you  to  take  it  and  learn  it,  so  you  can  say  it 
with  the  others.  It  is  in  your  Testament  too." 

"  Is  it  called  the  Lord's  Prayer  because  He  made 
it  ?  "  asked  Kit. 

"Yes,  for  that  very  reason." 

"  Here  is  something  else  printed  on  the  card,  — 
'  The  Apostles'  Creed/  "  said  Kit,  spelling  out  the 
word  with  some  trouble.  "What  is  that  ?  " 

"That  is  what  all  Christians  believe,  —  a  kind  of 
summing-up  of  all  the  truths  of  the  Bible,"  answered 
Miss  Armstrong.  "  Learn  that  too.  Suppose  you 
read  it  over  to  me." 

"  I  have  heard  that  somewhere,  I  know,"  said  Kit 
when  she  had  finished  reading  the  Creed.  "  Seems  to 
me  it  was  in  a  church  out  West,  but  I  can't  tell  exactly. 
I  guess  it  was  in  the  Indian  church.  But,  Miss  Ann- 
strong,  I  shall  have  to  learn  these  in  school,  I  guess." 

"  Very  well  ;  we  will  make  time  for  them.  Now 
I  must  not  keep  poor  Selina  waiting  any  longer. 
Good-night,  my  dear,  and  God  bless  you ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

STRANGERS. 

"  ARE  you  tired  of  waiting,  Selina  ? "  asked  Miss 
Armstrong  as  she  locked  the  schoolhouse  door,  and 
put  the  key  into  her  basket.  "  You  need  not  have 
staid.  I  don't  believe  I  should  be  so  stupid  as  to 
lose  my  way  twice." 

"I  liked  to,"  said  Selina  with  a  great  effort:  "it 
is  pleasanter  than  walking  home  alone.  But  I  think 
it  is  too  bad  to  keep  you  after  school  so." 

"Oh,  I  am  used  to  that,"  answered  Miss  Arm- 
strong, smiling.  "  I  usually  get  '  kept  after  school ' 
oftener  than  my  scholars  do.  I  am  pleased  when 
the  girls  come  to  me  with  questions.  I  am  very 
much  interested  in  poor  Kitty ;  I  hope  to  be  able 
to  do  something  for  her." 

"They  must  be  an  ignorant,  low  set,"  said  Selina. 
"  Fancy  any  one  not  knowing  that  the  New  Testa- 
ment is  a  part  of  the  Bible  !  " 

"  A  good  deal  more  than  half  the  people  in  the 
world  are  in  the  same  condition,  including  various 
kings,  nobles,  and  others  of  unquestionable  gentil- 
ity," said  Miss  Armstrong.  "I  have  met  with  many 

57 


58  OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

such  cases  in  the  city  ;  but  I  was  surprised,  I  con- 
fess, to  find  one  here." 

"  Oh,  well !  Phin  Mallory  has  not  always  lived 
here.  He  has  lived  out  West,  and  in  all  sorts  of 
wild  places,"  replied  Selina,  jealous  for  the  reputation 
of  the  neighborhood.  "  If  he  had  grown  up  in  Old- 
ham,  I  dare  say  he  would  have  been  different." 

"  I  think  it  altogether  probable  that  one  might  find 
people  who  have  grown  up  in  Oldham  whose  cases  are 
still  more  remarkable,"  said  Miss  Armstrong,  "though 
such  cases  are  so  common  that  their  peculiarity  does 
not  strike  you  unless  you  consider  the  matter." 

11 1  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Selina. 

"  I  am  thinking  of  people  who  have  been  brought 
up  to  know  a  great  deal  about  both  the  Old  and 
New  Testaments,  who  are  carefully  instructed  in  the 
Bible,  and  profess  to  believe  it,  and  who  yet  behave 
as  if  there  were  no  such  thing." 

Selina  blushed.  She  knew  very  well  that  this 
was  very  much  her  own  case.  "  Do  you  think  that 
is  so  much  more  strange  ? "  said  she. 

"Which  would  be  the  more  remarkable,  —  that  a 
man  should  walk  off  a  precipice  in  the  dark,  or  that 
he  should  do  so  in  the  daytime  with  his  eyes  open  ? " 
asked  Miss  Armstrong. 

"  That  he  should  do  it  in  the  daytime,  of  course," 
replied  Selina  ;  "  but  that  is  different." 

"  It  is  a  fair  illustration,  I  think,"  said  Miss  Arm- 
strong. "A  man  professes  to  believe  that  there  is 
no  salvation  for  any  one  who  does  not  accept  the 
Lord  Jesus  for  his  Saviour,  and  give  himself  up  to 
Him  ;  and  yet  he  does  neither." 


STRAA'GERS.  59 

"  I  don't  understand  what  people  mean  by  that," 
said  Selina,  —  "I  mean,  by  what  they  call  a  saving 
faith." 

"  A  saving  faith,  as  distinguished  from  a  merely 
historic  faith,  is  a  faith  that  leads  to  action.  To  give 
you  a  homely  illustration :  Mr.  Bassett,  here  in  the 
mill,  believes  that  school  will  open  at  nine  o'clock 
to-morrow  ;  that  is,  if  he  thinks  of  it  at  all.  But 
it  makes  no  practical  difference  to  him  :  he  will 
not  rise  an  hour  earlier,  or  make  any  change  in  his 
arrangements,  on  that  account.  But  to  me  it  is,  so 
to  speak,  the  central  fact  of  my  day ;  and  all  my 
plans  are  made  in  reference  to  it.  -  So  a  man  has  a 
kind  of  belief  in  the  Saviour  ;  that  is,  he  believes 
that  there  was  such  a  person,  and  that  He  did  the 
works  ascribed  to  Him :  but  he  does  not  make  any 
alteration  in  his  life  on  that  account.  But  let  that 
man  be  once  waked  up  to  the  truth  that  he  is  a  lost 
sinner,  with  no  hope  of  deliverance  except  in  this 
same  Saviour,  and  he  will  not  rest  till  he  has  made 
that  Saviour  his  own." 

"  Then  all  people  want  is,  to  be  waked  up,"  said 
Selina.  "  If  that  is  the  case,  I  wonder  true  Chris- 
tians don't  talk  to  people  about  such  things  more 
than  they  do." 

"  It  is,  no  doubt,  a  duty  grievously  neglected,"  said 
Miss  Armstrong ;  "  but  it  is  not  all,  by  any  means. 
People  go  on  in  sin,  not  because  they  don't  know 
any  better,  but  because  they  love  sin.  They  know, 
that,  if  they  become  really  Christians,  they  must  do 
many  things  which  they  don't  like  to  do,  and  give 
up  many  things  they  don't  like  to  give  up ;  and  they 


60   -         OLDffAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

cannot  make  up  their  minds  to  such  a  course.  The 
cross  looks  very  hard  and  heavy,  and  they  don't  like 
to  meddle  with  it." 

"  Some  people  say  there  is  nothing  but  joy  in  ths 
life  of  a  true  Christian,"  observed  Selina. 

"  The  life  of  a  true  Christian  must  be  very  imlik0 
that  of  his  Master,  then,"  replied  Miss  Armstrong 
"The  very  sight  and  thought  of  so  many  going  ti  e 
broad  way  to  destruction  must  hinder  any  true  Chris 
tian  from  being  perfectly  happy  at  all  times.  '  The 
disciple  is  not  above  his  Master,  nor  the.  servant 
above  his  Lord.'  But,  Selina,  how  is  it  with  you 
You  ought  not  to  need  any  arousing  on  this  sub 
ject." 

"  One  may  sometimes  have  too  much  of  a  good 
thing,"  said  Selina  lightly ;  and  then,  willing  to  dis- 
miss the  subject,  she  exclaimed,  "  I  wonder  whose 
carriage  this  is  coming  up  the  hill !  I  am  sure  it 
does  not  belong  about  here." 

"  It  is  Mrs.  Van  Zandt's,"  said  Miss  Armstrong 
with  an  expression  of  pleasure.  "  She  wrote  me 
that  she  meant  to  drive  over  from  Oldbury."  As  she 
spoke,  the  carriage  came  up  to  them  and  stopped ; 
and  the  coachman,  touching  his  hat,  asked  Selina 
if  they  were  in  the  right  road  to  the  Van  Zandt 
mansion. 

"  You  are  right  so  far,  but  you  must  turn  to  the 
left  by  that  red  house,"  said  Selina.  She  looked 
round  for  Miss  Armstrong,  and  saw  that  she  was 
already  at  the  carnage  window,  exchanging  greeting 
with  the  persons  within.  One  was  an  old  lady  with 
beautiful  white  hair  put  up  in  puffs  under  a  shady 


STRANGERS.  6 1 

bonnet.  The  others  seemed  to  be  young,  but  Selina 
could  not  see  them  distinctly.  She  felt  a  sense  of 
being  forlorn  and  neglected,  as  if  Miss  Armstrong 
had  somehow  done  her  an  injury  by  being  acquainted 
with  these  strangers,  while  she  was  not.  It  was  not 
very  reasonable,  but  it'  is  a  feeling  which  almost 
every  one  has  experienced  at  some  time.  Miss  Arm- 
strong hastened  to  catch  up  with  her. 

"  What  made  you  run  away  ? "  said  she.  "  I  wanted 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt  to  see  you." 

"  She  is  a  handsome  old  lady,  isn't  she  ? "  said 
Selina,  not  answering  the  question,  which,  indeed, 
she  would  not  have  found  easy.  *'  How  prettily  she 
was  dressed !  I  do  love  to  see  an  old  lady  dressed 
like  an  old  lady." 

"  And  so  do  I,"  answered  Miss  Armstrong. 
"  There  is  no  more  pitiable  spectacle,  to  my  mind, 
than  that  of  an  old  woman  trying  to  look  young." 

"  Some  old  people  feel  young,"  observed  Selina. 
"There  is  Miss  Delia  Claxton  standing  at  her  gate 
now.  She  says  she  does  not  feel  any  older  than  she  did 
when  she  was  twenty,  but  she  does  not  dress  young." 

"  I  dare  say  not.  People  who  feel  young  seldom 
do.  How  very  pretty  she  is  !  " 

Miss  Delia  did  indeed  look  wonderfully  pretty  as 
she  stood  under  the  great  tree  at  her  own  gate,  with 
the  flickering  lights  and  shadows  glancing  over  her 
delicate  calico  dress,  and  the  white  Shetland  shawl 
she  had  thrown  over  her  head.  She  was  an  alert 
little  body,  with  a  clear,  dark  complexion,  plenty  of 
color,  and  bright  hazel  eyes,  made  still  brighter  by 
the  whiteness  of  her  abundant  wavy  hair. 


62  OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"Good  evening,  Miss  Armstrong,"  she  said  in  a 
cheery  voice  as  soon  as  that  lady  came  within  hail- 
ing distance.  "  I  am  out  staring  after  our  new 
neighbors,  you  see.  That  isn't  very  dignified,  is  it  ? 
but,  dear  me,  one  sees  so  little  here,  that  a  travelling- 
carriage  is  quite  a  sight.  Celia  says  you  know  these 
ladies,  Miss  Armstrong,  and  that  they  are  very  nice 
people." 

"That  they  certainly  are,"  said  Miss  Armstrong, 
smiling.  "I  think  you  will  like  them  very  much." 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Miss  Delia 
emphatically;  "because,  you  see,  being  connections 
in  a  kind  of  way,  we  must  call  upon  them.  Dick 
Van  Zandt's  mother  was  first  cousin  to  our  mother. 
She  was  a  Butler,  you  see,  and  her  mother  was  a  Ring 
belonging  to  the  Rings,  of  Rollock,  the  same  family 
that  our  maternal  grandmother  came  from ;  so,  of 
course,  we  must  call.  You  will  smile  at  that,  though," 
added  Miss  Delia,  breaking  in  on  herself  with  a  good- 
natured  laugh:  "strangers  don't  understand  how 
much  we  think  of  relationship  and  descent  in  these 
parts." 

"I  am  Scotch,  and  an  Armstrong,"  replied  Miss 
Armstrong,  smiling  in  her  turn  ;  "and  you  know  the 
Scotch  count  kindred  to  the  tenth  degree,  at  least. 
But  I  assure  you,  Miss  Delia,  you  will  like  Mrs. 
Van  Zandt  very  much.  She  is  odd,  — at  least,  most 
people  consider  her  so,  —  but  she  is  very  lovely." 

"  I  am  considered  odd  myself,  so  I  can't  quarrel  with 
that,"  replied  Miss  Delia.  "You  see,  we  don't  often 
call  on  the  summer  boarders,"  she  added  :  "one  does 
not  know  much  about  their  antecedents,  as  a  rule,  and 


STRANGERS.  6^ 

some  of  them  are  not  very  nice.  —  I  hear  that  the 
Richmonds  are  coming  back,  Selina." 

"  They  are,  I  believe,"  answered  Selina  rather 
shortly,  as  though  the  subject  were  not  very  agree- 
able. 

"  Well,  if  they  do,  I  hope  you  won't  go  making  an 
intimate  of  that  Amelia,"  said  Miss  Delia:  "she  is 
not  a  nice  friend  for  you.  Well,  there,  child,  don't 
color  so  :  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  your  feelings.  —  Miss 
Armstrong,  won't  you  and  Selina  come  in  and  stay 
to  tea  ?  I  am  sure  Celia  would  be  delighted  to  have 
you.  You  will  excuse  my  not  having  called.  The 
fact  is,  I  had  been  coloring  carpet-rags,,  and  I  never 
can  do  that  without  coloring  my  hands  at  the  same 
time  ;  so  I  told  Celia  she  must  do  duty  for  both.  But 
I  should  so  like  to  have  you. stay  to  tea!" 

"  Not  to-night,"  replied  Miss  Armstrong,  seizing 
the  chance  when  Miss  Delia  stopped  for  lack  of 
breath.  "  Some  other  night  I  shall  be  very  happy." 

"  Any  time ;  stop  in  on  your  way  home  from  school. 
—  Here,  wait  a  minute."  She  went  into  the  house 
as  she  spoke,  and  returned  with  a  plate  of  cakes. 

"  H°re,  Selina,  take  these  to  your  mother,"  said 
she;  then  to  Miss  Armstrong,  in  explanation,  "They 
are  old-fashioned  ginger-nuts  made  with  honey.  It 
is  a  family  recipe,  and  they  do  say  nobody  but  a 
Claxton  can  make  them  properly  ;  but  I  will  give  you 
the  rule  if  you  like." 

"  And  I  will  give  you  the  recipe  for  short -bread, 
which  they  say  none  but  a  Scotchwoman  can  make 
properly  ;  and  we  will  both  try  to  disprove  the  rule,*' 
answered  Miss  Armstrong.  "Come,  Selina;  we 


64  OLD  PI  AM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

ought  to  be  at  home.  Your  mother  will  think  I  am 
lost  again.  —  Good-night,  Miss  Delia.  —  What  a  bright 
little  lady  she  is  !  "  added  Miss  Armstrong  as  they 
walked  away.  "  She  seems  quite  different  from  her 
sister." 

"Most  people  like  Miss  Celia  best,"  remarked 
Selina  :  "  Miss  Delia  is  so  sharp,  and  she  makes  such 
queer  remarks.  One  day  Mrs.  Blandy  —  she  lives  in 
that  big  house  on  the  corner  next  the  church  —  she 
said  one  day  at  the  society  that  she  didn't  believe  in 
foreign  missions.  'Well,'  said  Miss  Delia,  'if  every 
one  had  been  of  your  mind,  Mrs.  Blandy,  you  would 
be  going  about  dressed  in  a  neat-fitting  suit  of  blue 
paint  instead  of  that  handsome  black  silk,  and  hiding 
away  that  fat  little  boy  of  yours  to  keep  him  from 
being  burned  alive  as  a  sacrifice  to  Bel.'  —  'What 
do  you  mean,  Miss  Delia?'  asked  Mrs.  Blandy. 
'  Nothing,  only  that  was  what  your  ancestors  were 
doing  in  the  time  when  the  Church  at  Jerusalem  sent 
out  so  many  foreign  missionaries,'  answered  Miss 
Delia;  'and,  if  the  apostles  had  been  of  your  way 
of  thinking,  you  would  probably  be  doing  the  same 
now."1 

"  I  don't  see  any  thing  odd  in  that,"  remarked  Miss 
Armstrong  :  "  it  .was  only  a  simple  statement  of  facts. 
And  what  then  ?  " 

"  And  then  Mrs.  Blandy  said  it  was  a  very  different 
thing,  sending  missionaries  to  England,  from  what  it 
was  sending  them  clear  off  to  India ;  and  Miss  Delia 
said,  'Yes,  very  different:  a  much  harder  and  more 
perilous  journey,  and  much  more  trouble  and  danger 
when  they  got  there.'  You  see,  Miss  Delia  is  a 


STXANGERS.  65 

great  reader,  and  she  never  forgets  any  thing :  so, 
when  people  talk  against  missions  or  any  such  thing, 
she  always  gets  the  last  word." 

"  I  should  say  she  deserved  it  if  she  always  argued 
as  well  as  in  this  case,"  said  Miss  Armstrong,  much 
amused. 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  but  you  see  people  don't  like  to  be 
put  down,  and  shown  to  be  in  the  wrong.  I'm  sure 
I  don't." 

"What !  not  when  you  are  in  the  wrong?" 

"  I  think  that  is  the  time  when  one  likes  it  least 
of  all,"  replied  Selina  frankly. 

"  But  how  are  you  ever  to  be  set  right,  in  that 
case  ? " 

"  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Blandy  cared  about  being  set 
right,  very  much,"  replied  Selina.  "She  said  again 
that  charity  began  at  home.  And  then  Miss  Delia 
began  to  talk  about  the  orphan-asylum  at  Oldbury, 
and  poor  Mrs.  Graves  who  has  a  sick  husband  and 
four  little  children.  And  she  asked  Mrs.  Blandy  if 
she  had  not  a  frock  to  make  over  for  the  little  girls, 
so  they  could  be  decent  to  come  to  Sunday  school ; 
but  Mrs.  Blandy  said  she  was  calculating  to  make  a 
rag  carpet  pretty  soon,  and  she  had  to  save  all  her  old 
clothes  for  that,  because  she  meant  to  take  the  prize 
for  it  at  the  State  fair." 

Miss  Armstrong  smiled  and  sighed.  She  had  met 
a  great  many  Mrs.  Blandys  in  her  lifetime. 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  be  a  foreign  missionary," 
said  Selina,  after  they  had  walked  a  little  way  in 
silence. 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Miss  Armstrong. 


66  OLDHAM;    OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  Oh,  because  there  would  be  some  adventure  and 
romance  about  it.  It  would  not  be  all  prose,  like 
one's  life  here." 

"  My  dear,  if  you  allow  your  life  to  be  all  prose 
here,  it  would  be  prosy  anywhere.  And  the  prose 
of  a  mission-life  among  heathen  is  much  more  dis- 
agreeable than  that  of  a  daughter's  life  at  home  in 
New  England.  I  know,  because  I  have  tried  it. 
What  would  you  think,  for  instance,  of  combing  and 
washing  a  dozen  children  who  never  were  combed  or 
washed  before  in  their  lives  ?" 

"  I  did  not  suppose  missionary  ladies  did  such 
things  as  that,"  said  Selina. 

"  They  do  a  great  many  such  things  as  that,  and 
worse,  such  as  I  don't  care  to  tell  you  about  just 
before  supper,"  replied  .Miss  Armstrong.  "I  have 
often  wished  that  our  missionaries  would  give  us 
more  of  just  such  details,  that  people  could  see  what 
the  life  really  is." 

"Why  don't  they?"  asked  Selina. 

"  Well,  for  various  reasons.  They  are  afraid,  for  one 
thing,  of  disgusting  and  discouraging  people  ;  making 
them  think  there  is  no  use  in  doing  any  thing." 

"  I  should  think,  the  worse  the  people  were,  the 
more  need  there  was  for  teaching  them  better,"  ob- 
served Selina. 

''That  is  a  very  just  remark,  but  a  great  many 
people  do  not  see  it  in  that  light.  Then  these  mat- 
ters of  personal  experience  become  every-day  occur- 
rences, and  they  do  not  think  of  them  as  being  any 
more  novel  or  interesting  to  others  than  to  them-, 
selves." 


STRANGERS.  67 

"  I  think  they  arc  interesting,  though,"  said  Selina. 
"Little  things  like  that  are  just  what  make  a  story 
seem  real." 

"Very  true,  again.  But,  Selina,  you  would  never 
make  a  missionary  if  that  is  to  be  your  only  motive. 
The  romance  and  adventure  soon  wear  off,  and  the 
hard  and  prosaic  duties  remain.  You  need  a  much 
stronger  and  purer  motive  than  that,  even  the  love 
of  God  in  your  heart,  the  same  that  sent  the  early 
Christians  everywhere  preaching  the  Word,  and  that 
now  sends  hundreds  of  men  and  women  every  year 
to  preach  the  glad  tidings  to  those  who  sit  in  dark- 
ness and  the  shadow  of  death.  Have  you  that  love 
in  your  heart  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  answered  Selina.  "  But,  sup- 
pose I  had,  do  you  think  I  should  make  a  good  mis- 
sionary ? " 

"I  could  hardly  say  that  on  so  short  an  acquaint- 
ance," replied  Miss  Armstrong.  "Consider,  my 
dear,  that  I  have  not  known  you  quite  a  week.  I 
do  not  see,  however,  any  reason  why  you  should  not 
make  as  good  a  missionary  as  another.  But,  Selina, 
let  me  say  one  word  more  :  unless  you  Jiave  that  love 
in  your  heart,  you  are  no  more  fit  for  a  life  here  at 
home  than  you  would  be  for  a  life  in  India.  You 
want  Him  just  as  much  in  one  place  as  another,  and 
you  can  no  more  be  happy  without  Him.  Won't 
you  think  about  that,  my  child  ? " 

"Yes,  Miss  Armstrong,  I  will,"  answered  Selina; 
and  at  the  time  she  fully  meant  what  she  said.  She 
was  much  more  pleasant  all  the  rest  of  the  week, 
and  her  mother  rejoiced  over  the  change.  "Girls 


68  OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

are  full  of  moods  and  fancies,"  she  said  to  her  hus- 
band. "We  must  have  patience,  father." 

"  I  never  knew  you  to  have  any  thing  else, 
mother,"  was  the  reply.  Mr.  Weston  had  full  confi- 
dence in  his  wife's  judgment,  and  he  was  very  fond 
of  his  adopted  daughter. 

It  had  long  been  the  custom  to  hold  a  service  in 
the  red  schoolhouse  on  Friday  evenings.  This  ser- 
vice was  usually  called  the  Bible  class,  because  a 
portion  of  Scripture,  usually  the  Epistle  or  Gospel 
for  the  next  Sunday,  was  given  out  beforehand  to  be 
talked  over.  The  minister,  if  he  was  present,  read 
a  short  service ;  and  a  hymn  was  sung  to  a  familiar 
tune.  Then  the  discussion  was  opened  by  the  pas- 
tor, or  whoever  supplied  his  place;  and  every  one 
spoke  who  had  any  thing  to  say.  Even  the  little 
children  were  encouraged  to  repeat  texts,  and  verses 
of  hymns.  This  service  had  been  started  by  old  Dr. 
Munson,  who  had  preached,  and  also  practised,  in 
Oldham  for  forty  years.  He  had  been  dead  for  a 
quarter  of  a  century,  but  the  Bible  class  he  had 
begun  lived  after  him. 

The  meetings  of  the  class  were  usually  tolerably 
well  attended  in  winter ;  but  the  numbers  fell  off  in 
warm  weather,  when,  truth  to  tell,  the  red  school- 
house  was  apt  to  be  warm  and  close.  Those  who 
came  on  this  particular  evening,  however,  were  des- 
tined to  find  it  much  more  comfortable  than  usual. 

"Now,  who  will  stay  and  help  me  put  the  school- 
room in  order?"  asked  Miss  Armstrong,  as  the  after- 
noon session  drew  to  a  close. 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other  in  surprise. 


STR ANGERS.  69 

"The  Bible  class  meets  here  this  evening,  Miss 
Armstrong,"  said  Ruth  Jewsbury. 

"I  know  it,  my  dear.  That  is  just  the  reason  we 
want  to  put  the  room  in  nice  order." 

"  I  don't  see  it,"  answered  Ruth  bluntly. 

"  Don't  see  what  ? " 

"  I  don't  see  the  use  of  sweeping,  when  the  people 
will  put  all  out  of  order  again." 

"Suppose  some  distinguished  person  —  Mr.  Long- 
fellow, say,  or  the  Bishop  —  were  going  to  be  here." 

"Oh,  well !  then,  of  course,  we  should  want  things 
to  look  neat.  But  there  will  be  nobody  like  that 
coming  to-night." 

"  Are  you  sure  ? "  asked  Miss  Armstrong.  "  Who 
is  it  that  says,  '  Where  two  or  three  are  gathered  in 
my  name,  there  am  I  in  the  midst  of  them  '  ? " 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Sarah  Leet.  "  But, 
Miss  Armstrong,  why  don't  they  keep  the  church 
cleaner,  then  ? " 

"You  must  put  that  question  to  somebody  besides 
me,"  answered  Miss  Armstrong.  "Now,  who  will 
help  me?" 

Half  a  dozen  volunteered  at  once,  of  whom  Kit 
Mallory  was  one.  There  was  a  large  old-fashioned 
fireplace  in  the  room,  which  had  been  closed  with  a 
fireboard  when  the  increasing  scarcity  of  wood  had 
made  a  stove  necessary.  Miss  Armstrong  had  per- 
suaded Mr.  Weston  to  remove  this  board,  and  leave 
open  the  great  chimney,  which  thus  made  an  excel- 
lent ventilating-shaft.  She  had  found  a  tall  pickle- 
jar  among  Mrs.  Weston's  stores,  which  she  placed 
on  the  hearth,  and  filled,  with  the  children's  assist- 


70  OLDHAM ;   OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

ance,  with  sweet-fern,  cedar-boughs,  and  brakes. 
The  windows  were  opened  at  top  and  bottom,  the 
room  carefully  swept  and  dusted,  and  a  glass  of 
fresh,  sweet  flowers  placed  on  the  table. 

"How  nice  it  looks,  and  how  fresh  and  sweet  it 
smells ! "  said  Kit,  who  had  been  one  of  Miss  Arm- 
strong's most  efficient  helpers.  "  Isn't  it  too  bad, 
Miss  Armstrong,  that  I  can't  come  to  the  meet- 
ing?" 

"  Can't  come  to  the  meeting  ?  why  not  ? "  asked 
the  voice  of  Mr.  Bassett,  the  miller,  from  the  open 
door.  "Why  can't  yon  come,  child?" 

"  Uncle  Phin  won't  let  me,"  answered  Kit.  She 
did  not  care  to  be  further  catechised  about  her  uncle 
and  his  ways,  and  slipped  away  without  even  bidding 
Miss  Armstrong  good-night, — an  omission  which 
Selina  did  not  fail  to  notice,  and  register  in  her  pri- 
vate account  of  Kit's  misdeeds. 

"  Poor  little  young  one ! "  said  the  kindly  miller. 
"What  a  shame  that  she  can't  come,  when  she  wants 
to  so  much !  I  feel  for  that  child.  I  wish  one  could 
do  something  for  her." 

"I  hope  something  may  be  done ;  but  it  seems  one 
of  the  cases  where  one  must  proceed  with  caution, 
for  fear  of  doing  more  harm  than  good." 

"I  guess  you  are  about  right  there.  We  must 
keep  her  in  mind,  and  perhaps  a  way  will  be  opened. 
Well,  Miss  Armstrong,  I  came  over  to  fix  things  for 
the  Bible  class,  but  I  don't  see  that  you  have  left  me 
any  thing  to  do.  That  is  a  first-rate  idea,  —  getting 
that  chimney  open.  I  don't  blame  people  for  getting 
sleepy  when  the  room  is  hot  as  an  oven,  and  so  close 


STRANGERS.  7 1 

you  couldn't  slip  in  a  flax-seed  sharp  end  first.  I  feel 
as  if  we  were  going  to  have  a  real  good  time." 

"What  about  lights?"  asked  Miss  Armstrong. 

"  I  always  calculate  to  provide  them.  We  don't 
have  many  in  summer.  —  I  hope  you  will  all  come, 
girls,  and  all  have  a  verse  at  least.  Will  your  sister 
be  out,  Faith  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  she  will,"  answered  Faith:  "she 
has  so  much  to  do." 

"  She  would  do  it  a  deal  easier,  and  better  too,  if 
she  would  take  some  rest  now  and  again,  —  that's 
my  opinion,"  said  the  miller.  "  Between  the  mill 
and  the  farm  and  the  blacksmith-shop,  I  have  plenty 
of  irons  in  the  fire,  and  I  don't  let  them  get  cold, 
either;  but  I  couldn't  afford  not  to  take  time  for  the 
Bible  class.  You  tell  her  what  I  say.  And  you 
come  along  with  me  :  I've  got  some  nice  early  pease 
to  send  her.  The  folks  laughed  at  me  for  buying 
them,  —  they're  some  I  sent  for  to  Flower  City, — 
and  said  the  old-fashioned  ones  were  good  enough. 
'  You  have  the  laugh,'  says  I,  '  I'll  have  the  pease.' 
Now  I've  got  the  laugh,  and  the  pease  too.  Come 
along,  little  ones,  and  see  if  Ma  Bassett  hasn't  got 
some  gingerbread.  You  leave  the  key,  Miss  Arm- 
strong, and  I'll  see  to  the  rest.  I  feel  as  if  we  were 
going  to  have  a  real  good  time." 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE    MEETING. 

IT  appeared  that  Mr.  Bassett's  prophecy  was  going 
to  be  fulfilled ;  so  far,  at  least,  as  numbers  were  con- 
cerned. The  children  carried  home  the  news  that 
Miss  Armstrong  had  the  schoolhouse  all  swept  out, 
instead  of  leaving  it  to  be  done  at  noon  on  Saturday ; 
that  she  had  helped  to  dust  the  desks  and  seats  with 
her  own  hands,  and  had  put  flowers  on  the  desk  and 
in  the  fireplace,  because  she  said  the  room  ought  to 
be  made  neat  and  pleasant  for  the  service  of  God. 
Truth  to  tell,  this  idea,  which  would  not  be  consid- 
ered very  original  in  many  places,  was  one  which 
had  not  found  entrance  to  the  minds  of  people  in 
Oldham. 

"  She  had  better  go  and  talk  to  Mr.  Archimball, 
the  sexton  at  the  Corners,"  said  Mrs.  Gleason,  when 
Agnes  told  her  what  Miss  Armstrong  had  said.  "  I 
do  hate  to  wear  my  black  silk  to  church  Sundays, 
because  I  get  it  just  covered  with  dust.  I  believe 
I  will  go  to  Bible  class  this  evening!" 

"  Do,"  said  Agnes.     "  I'll  take  care  of   the  milk 
if  you  will." 
72 


THE   MEETING.  73 

"  Oh,  we  can  both  go.  It  is  only  to  have  supper 
a  little  earlier.  Set  the  table,  and  I'll  have  it  ready 
directly." 

"  Won't  you  go  to  the  class  to-night,  sister  ?  "  asked 
Faith  Fletcher  when  she  had  put  away  the  children's 
books,  and  put  on  their  home  aprons. 

"  How  can  I  go  ?  "  asked  Patience.  "  There  is  the 
milk  to  take  care  of,  and  the  dishes  to  wash,  and 
Eddy's  new  frock  to  finish  so  she  can  wear  it  on 
Sunday.  It  is  easy  to  talk  about  going  to  class." 

"  Well,  I  can  wash  the  dishes  and  take  care  of  the 
milk  as  well  as  you,  if  you  would  only  think  so ;  and 
there  will  be  time  enough  to  finish  Eddy's  frock 
to-morrow.  Besides,  if  she  don't  have  it,  she  can 
wear  her  old  one  :  it  looks  as  well  as  it  did  last 
Sunday.  Come,  sister,  do  go  for  once.  Mr.  Bassett 
says  he  knows  it  will  do  you  good." 

"Yes,  much  he  knows  about  my  work." 

"Well,  there  is  one  thing  /would  like  to  know," 
said  Faith,  who  was  not  easily  put  down  when  she 
once  took  a  fit  of  "arguing,"  as  her  sister  called  it : 
"  I  should  like  to  know  where  is  the  use  of  being  a 
Christian  when  one  does  not  get  any  comfort  or  help 
out  of  it.  Seems  to  me,  if  I  was  a  church-member, 
and  professed  to  love  the  Lord  better  than  any  one 
else,  I'd  go  where  I  was  sure  to  meet  Him,  even  if  I 
had  to  put  my  dishes  in  cold  water  to  soak,  and 
didn't  wash  them  till  next  morning." 

"  What  a  girl  you  are  to  talk  ! "  said  Patience,  half 
vexed,  half  laughing.  "  It  is  a  pity  you  were  not  a 
boy,  so  you  could  be  a  preacher.  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  go  sometimes,  that's  a  fact." 


74  OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"Mr.  Bassett  says  it  would  do  you  good,"  persisted 
Faith.  "He  says,  with  all  he  has  to  do,  he  finds  it 
a  rest  to  go  to  the  class.  Come,  sister,  do  try  it  for 
once.  I'll  put  the  children  to  bed,  and  do  all  the 
work,  if  you  will." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  go  yourself  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  it  well  enough  ;  but  I  don't 
suppose  we  could  both  be  spared.  Pa  couldn't  put 
the  twins  to  bed." 

"  What  is  that  pa  can't  do  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Fletcher 
from  the  door.  He  was  a  tall,  spare,  elderly  man, 
with  a  somewhat  careworn,  considerate  face,  grave 
but  not  unkindly,  and  with  a  sparkle  of  humor  in  it. 
"  What  is  that  you  think  pa  can't  do  ?  Put  the  chil- 
dren to  bed  ?  He  can  do  it  as  well  as  you  or  any 
old  woman  in  Oldham  ;  and,  if  he  should  happen  to 
stick  the  pins  in  with  the  heads  west  instead  of  east, 
sissy  can  alter  'em  when  she  comes  home.  They 
won't  disturb  the  balance  of  the  solar  system  much 
for  that  time.  Just  run  down  and  let  in  the  cows, 
Faithy :  they  are  mooing  at  the  bars  ;  and  look  on 
my  work-bench,  and  see  if  I  left  my  other  glasses.  — 
The  fact  is,  sister,  Faith  is  more  than  half  right,"  he 
added  more  seriously.  "  I  don't  like  to  say  any  thing 
that  sounds  like  blaming  you,  considering  all  you  do; 
but  just  look  at  it.  You  say  you  wish  Faith  cared 
more  about  religion  ;  but  how  can  you  wonder  that 
she  thinks  it  a  matter  of  no  great  consequence,  after 
all,  when  she  sees  us  let  every  thing  come  before 
it,  —  when  she  sees  us,  who,  as  she  says,  profess  to 
love  God,  so  wrapped  up  in  the  little  things  of  this 
world  that  we  haven't  any  time  for  His  service  ?  I 


THE  MEETING.  75 

must  say,  when  I  heard  the  child  talking  just  now, 
I  felt  reproved." 

"  Oh,  well,  I'll  go,"  said  Patience  in  a  somewhat 
aggrieved  tone  ;  "  but  I  think  it  is  rather  hard  on 
me,  when  I  make  a  slave  of  myself  for  you  and  the 
children,  to  be  called  worldly  and  all  that,  as  if  I 
spent  my  whole  time  dressing  and  visiting,  like  Mary 
Blandy." 

"  In  the  first  place,  I  didn't  call  you  so,  not  as  I 
remember,"  replied  her  father.  "  I  said  we  were  too 
much  taken  up  with  the  things  of  the  world  ;  which 
I  take  to  be  all  things  that  perish  in  the  using, 
whether  they  be  dresses,  or  rolls  of  butter,  or  bean- 
threshers.  In  the  next  place,  daughter,  we  should 
none  of  us  be  slaves,  but  the  Lord's  free  men  and 
free  women." 

"Why  don't  you  go  yourself,  then,  pa,  if  we  are 
going  to  do  so  much  good  by  it  ? "  asked  Patience, 
already  ashamed  of  her  little  burst  of  temper,  which, 
in  truth,  was  more  nervous,  fatigue  than  any  thing 
else. 

"  Because  I  think  you  need  rest  and  refreshment 
rather  more  than  I  do,  my  daughter.  A  man's  work 
is  less  tiring  than  a  woman's,  seeing  he  is  out  in 
the  fresh  air  most  of  the  time  ;  at  least,  that  is  my 
opinion." 

"  Everybody  isn't  like  you,  pa,"  said  poor  Patience, 
who  felt  the  moisture  uncomfortably  near  her  eyes. 
"  Ezra  makes  more  steps  in  a  day  when  he  is  at 
home  than  you  do  in  a  week,  though  he  is  always 
saying,  '  Oh,  don't  trouble  yourself! ' ' 

"  Ezra  is  only  a  boy ;  but  he  is  a  pretty  good  boy, 


76  OLDHAM;    OR,   11ESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

after  all,  and  we  are  both  prouder  of  him  than  a  hen 
with  one  chicken,"  returned  her  father.  "  Come, 
sister,  go  to  the  class,  and  take  Faith  ;  and  let  me 
put  the  little  ones  to  bed.  Maybe  the  child  might 
get  just  the  word  she  needs." 

"Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  said  Patience;  and 
she  went. 

The  room  at  the  red  schoolhouse  was  really  full, 
—  an  uncommon  sight  at  any  time,  and  especially  in 
summer.  All  the  Westons  and  Bassetts  were  there, 
of  course,  as  well  as  Miss  Celia  and  Miss  Delia:  these 
were  the  standbys  always  on  hand.  What  a  bless- 
ing it  is  that  there  are  always  a  few  such  standbys 
belonging  to  every  parish  !  Patience  Fletcher  came 
in  with  Faith,  and  sat  down  by  the  window.  Then 
there  were  the  Jewsbury  girls,  who  did  not  often  go 
to  church,  even  on  Sunday  ;  and  old  Miss  Wright, 
who  eked  out  a  scanty  living  by  bleaching  and  trim- 
ming bonnets,  and  who  had  never  been  to  church  at 
Oldham  since  the  last  rector's  sister  bought  her 
bonnet  ready  trimmed  at  Oldbury ;  and  almost  all 
the  children  of  the  school  who  were  big  enough  to 
sit  up  till  eight  o'clock.  Just  as  it  was  time  for  the 
service  to  begin,  there  was  a  little  movement  at  the 
door ;  and  Mrs.  Barbara  Van  Zandt  came  in,  followed 
by  her  two  young  nieces,  Miss  Bogardus  and  Ida 
Van  Zandt.  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  wore  a  large,  soft 
white  wrap,  and  had  put  a  light,  fleecy  summer  hood 
over  the  widow's  cap  she  always  wore.  She  was  a 
very  handsome  old  lady,  with  those  bright-gray  eyes 
which  have  a  way  of  looking  black  from  the  dilation 
of  the  pupils,  and  which  -no  age  or  sickness  ever 


THE  MEETING.  77 

quenches.  She  was  one  of  those  people  of  whom 
one  naturally  says,  on  seeing  them,  "  Who  is  that  ? " 
She  accepted  the  chair  set  for  her,  with  a  kindly 
smile,  and  bent  her  head  for  a  few  moments  in 
prayer.  Ida  and  Amity  slipped  into  seats  beside 
Patience  and  Faith  Fletcher. 

"What  a  plain  little  body!"  thought  Patience. 
"Nobody  would  take  her  for  a  great  heiress.  But 
she  looks  good,  as  if  one  could  depend  on  her." 

"What  a  fine  face,  if  it  were  not  so  tired  and 
worn  !  "  thought  Amity.  "  She  must  be  carrying  a 
great  weight,  somehow.  I  wish  one  could  do  some- 
thing to  help  her."  And  Amity  did  something  for 
Patience  then  and  there,  though  Patience  never  knew 
it. 

The  meeting  was  opened  in  the  usual  way.  There 
was  no  rector  in  Oldham  at  present,  so  Mr.  Weston 
read  a  part  of  the  evening  service,  and  gave  out  the 
hymn,  "Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul."  There  was  a 
little  delay :  the  young  man  who  usually  started  the 
hymn  was  not  present.  But  in  a  moment  a  new  voice 
began  the  beautiful  Spanish  Hymn,  —  such  a  voice, 
for  power  and  cultivation,  as  had  never  been  heard 
in  the  red  schoolhouse  before.  People  almost  held 
their  breath  to  listen,  and  it  seemed  at  first  as  if  Ida 
would  have  all  the  singing  to  herself ;  but  presently 
one  and  another  joined  in,  till  every  one  in  the  room 
was  singing,  children  and  all. 

"  Wasn't  that  lovely ! "  whispered  Faith,  getting 
hold  of  her  sister's  hand,  and  squeezing  it.  Patience 
smiled,  and  returned  the  pressure ;  but  she  did  not 
speak. 


78  OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

When  the  hymn  was  done,  Mr.  Weston  read  a 
part  of  the  tenth  chapter  of  St.  John,  and  called 
upon  Mr.  Bassett  to  begin  the  lesson.  Mr.  Bassett 
had  what  he  would  have  called  a  good  common- 
school  education.  He  knew  Brown's  Grammar  from 
beginning  to  end,  and  could  have  parsed  any  sen- 
tence you  liked  to  give  him  :  but,  like  other  people, 
when  he  was  in  earnest,  he  went  back  to  his  native 
idioms  ;  and  he  was  much  in  earnest  to-night.  He 
spoke  of  the  Shepherd's  love,  not  only  for  His  obedi- 
ent sheep,  but  for  the  others  who  were  not  of  His 
fold,  — for  those  who,  ignorant  and  misled,  had  gone 
astray,  and  were  lost  on  the  dark  mountains.  He 
spoke  of  the  duty  of  true  disciples  toward  such  lost 
lambs ;  and  of  how  much  might  be  done  by  kindness, 
and  watchfulness  of  opportunities,  to  lead  them  back 
to  the  Shepherd's  arms.  There  was  just  such  a  lost 
lamb  —  nay,  the  very  one  the  good  man  had  in  his 
mind  —  listening  under  the  window  at  that  moment. 
Mr.  Bassett  did  not  know  that,  but  the  Shepherd  did. 

The  children  repeated  their  verses  more  or  less 
correctly  ;  and  two  or  three,  who  had  not  learned  any, 
determined  to  do  so  next  time.  Miss  Armstrong  re- 
peated two  verses  of  the  old  Scotch  version  of  the 
twenty-third  Psalm,  "  The  Lord's  my  Shepherd  ;  I'll 
not  want."  Miss  Celia  Claxton  said  a  few  words  on 
her  verse,  "I  will  guide  thee  with  mine  eye"  (Ps. 
xxxii.  8).  She  spoke  of  the  service  of  God  setting 
free  from  the  corroding  cares  of  this  world,  and  how 
those  who  kept  close  enough  to  the  Shepherd  to  see 
His  face  were  spared  many  distressing  doubts  and 
perplexities,  because  His  loving  and  warning  glance 


THE  MEETING.  79 

made  all  things  plain.  Patience  Fletcher  repeated  a 
verse  from  the  one  hundred  and  nineteenth  Psalm, 
"  My  soul  cleaveth  unto  the  dust :  quicken  Thou 
me  according  to  Thy  word." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  and  then  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt's  voice  was  heard,  a  little  tremulous  with 
age,— 

"  Come  unto  Me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest."  Mrs.  Van  Zandt 
said  a  few  words  on  the  need  and  sweetness  of  rest, 
and  the  impossibility  of  finding  it  anywhere  but  in 
Christ,  and  then  only  by  making  a  full  surrender  and 
consecration  of  the  heart  and  all  the  powers  to  Him, 
—  by  ceasing  from  our  own  works,  and  doing  all  to 
Him.  It  was  very  simple  and  obvious,  but  it  went 
home  to  more  than  one  heart.  There  were  two  more 
short  addresses,  and  another  hymn  was  sung, — 

"  Sun  of  my  soul,  thou  Saviour  dear." 

Ida  was  a  little  shy  of  beginning  this  time,  till  Mr. 
Weston  said,  "  Perhaps  the  young  lady  will  start  the 
tune  again,"  when  she  raised  her  glorious  voice  once 
more ;  and  every  one  joined  with  a  hearty  good-will 
refreshing  to  hear.  There  was  a  collect,  and  then 
the  class  was  dismissed.  People  lingered  for  the 
usual  neighborly  greeting ;  and  before  the  first  one 
issued  from  the  door,  a  little  dark  figure,  which  had 
been  crouched  under  the  window,  rose,  and  sped 
away  over  the  hill. 

Miss  Celia  and  Miss  Delia  had  already  called  upon 
the  new-comers.  "  They  are  really  our  cousins,  you 
know,  by  way  of  the  Rings  and  Butlers,"  they  had 


80  OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

saidj  in  a  kind  of  half  apology,  when  questioned  on 
the  subject.  The  two  sisters  now  shook  hands  with 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt  and  the  young  ladies,  and  Miss 
Delia  remarked  that  she  was  glad  to  see  them  out. 

"  I  never  willingly  miss  such  a  service,"  said  Mrs. 
Van  Zandt.  "  I  always  feel,  apart  from  the  enjoy- 
ment, that  one  owes  a  duty  to  such  an  effort  made 
in  one's  own  neighborhood." 

"  I  wish  every  one  felt  so,"  said  Mr.  Bassett.  "  I 
want  to  thank  this  young  lady  for  helping  us  out  in 
the  singing." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  very  welcome,"  replied  Ida 
simply.  "  I  am  choir  leader  in  our  little  mission 
chapel  at  the  Works,  so  it  comes  quite  natural  to 
me.  I  really  did  it  upon  impulse  the  first  time  ;  but, 
when  I  came  to  think,  it  seemed  like  '  taking  on,'  as 
the  children  say,  for  a  stranger." 

"  I  don't  think  one  ever  ought  to  feel  like  a  stran- 
ger in  the  house  of  God,"  remarked  Miss  Celia. 
"  We  are  all  of  one  family  there,  you  know,  my  dear." 

"  That  is  very  true,"  said  Ida. 

"  Well,  Miss  Armstrong,  I  told  you  we  were  going 
to  have  a  good  time,"  said  the  miller,  as  he  locked 
the  door,  and  gave  Miss  Armstrong  the  key ;  then, 
as  he  walked  homeward  between  his  wife  and  Aunt 
Betsy,  he  added,  "  I  feel  to  be  thankful  that  our  new 
neighbors  turn  out  to  be  such  good  Christian  folks, 
ready  to  take  their  share  in  our  meeting." 

"Well,  I  must  say  I  think  they  took  their  full 
share  to-night,  and  a  little  more,"  said  Aunt  Betsy, 
who  had  regarded  the  new-comers  with  suspicion 
and  disfavor.  "I  don't  think  I  care  about  having 


THE  MEETING.  8 1 

strangers  from  the  city  coming  here  and  setting  up 
to  teach  us,  —  folks  whose  fathers  and  grandfathers 
sat  under  old  Dr.  Munson.  To  see  that  old  lady 
coming  to  meeting  with  that  thing  on  her  head  like 
a  heap  of  beaten-up  white  of  egg  !  I'll  be  bound  she 
would  never  think  of  wearing  such  a  thing  on  Broad- 
way. And  that  girl  with  her  singing :  of  course  it 
was  very  fine,  but  it  was  far  too  operatic  and  theat- 
rical for  my  taste." 

"  How  many  operas  and  theatrical  performances 
did  you  ever  see,  Aunt  Betsy  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Bassett, 
who  had  a  tongue  of  her  own,  and  did  not  stand  as 
much  in  awe  of  the  old  lady  as  most  of  her  neigh- 
bors. 

"Come,  come!"  said  Mr.  Bassett.  "Seems  to 
me  some  of  them  fowls  of  the  air  that  picked  up  the 
good  seed  in  the  parable  have  lit  down  among  us. 
This  isn't  the  spirit  we  should  be  in  after  such  favor 
as  has  been  shown  us  to-night.  I  was  so  glad  to  see 
Patience  Fletcher  out.  Poor  thing !  she  looks  very 
tired." 

"  Well,  she  makes  a  great  deal  harder  work  of  life 
than  she  needs  to,"  said  Mrs.  Bassett.  "She  just 
makes  herself  a  slave  to  the  house  and  the  children ; 
and,  after  all,  she  doesn't  do  any  more  for  them  than 
I  do  for  mine." 

"  Not  as  much,"  said  her  husband. 

"Well,  I  don't  think  she  makes  things  as  pleasant, 
if  I  say  it  that  shouldn't.  I  had  the  twins  down  to 
spend  the  afternoon  not  long  ago ;  and  the  poor 
things  were  afraid  to  make  a  natural  motion,  for  fear 
of  spoiling  their  clothes,  till  Myra  dressed  them  up 


82  OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

in  some  old  things  of  Ben's  and  Sally's.  For  my 
part,  I  like  to  take  the  comfort  of  my  children,  and 
have  them  take  comfort  as  we  go  along,  instead  of 
toiling  and  slaving  to  do  .some  grand  thing  for  them 
by  and  by,  when  maybe  they  won't  want  it.  I  guess 
I'll  send  up  for  them  again  to-morrow  :  it  will  take 
them  off  Faith's  hands,  and  give  her  time  to  learn 
her  Sunday-school  lesson  in  peace." 

"  And  how  about  yours  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Betsy.  "  I 
should  think  you  had  enough  on  your  hands  now, 
with  all  them  great  tearing  boys  of  yours." 

"  Oh,  two  or  three  children  more  or  less  don't  mat- 
ter at  our  house,"  answered  Mrs.  Bassett.  "And, 
as  to  the  Sunday-school  lessons,  Myra  and  I  learn 
ours,  and  teach  the  children  theirs,  on  Sunday  after- 
noon ;  then  we  go  over  them  again  Saturday  even- 
ing after  tea,  and  so  they  are  all  ready  for  Sunday. 
Good-night,  Aunt  Betsy.  Come  down  to-morrow,  and 
I'll  give  you  a  green-currant  pie." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    ENEMY. 

KIT  hoped  she  might  reach  home  and  go  to  bed 
without  being  missed.  She  had  often  played  out  on 
the  hillside  till  after  dark,  and  no  questions  had  been 
asked  as  to  where  she  had  been.  But  fate  was 
against  her — or  rather  the  Devil,  acting  by  one  of 
his  most  harmful  agents,  a  malicious  woman,  deter- 
mined neither  to  be  good  herself,  nor  let  any  one  else 
be  so  if  she  could  help  it.  Melissa  Mallory  was  not  in- 
different to  religion,  by  any  means :  on  the  contrary, 
she  hated  the  very  name  of  it.  She  had  not  succeeded 
in  making  herself  an  absolute  unbeliever,  though  she 
had  tried  very  hard.  There  always  would  stay  by 
her,  hid  in  some  inner  recess  of  her  soul,  a  terrible 
lurking  dread,  —  the  conviction,  that,  after  all,  there 
was  a  superior  power,  a  great  Being  who  knew  of  all 
her  sins,  and  would  some  day  exact  a  full  account  of 
them  ;  and  she  felt  toward  this  power  as  the  Eastern 
king  in  the  story  might  be  supposed  to  feel  toward 
the  lion  which  he  knew  was  shut  up  somewhere  in 
his  palace,  and  which  might  break  out  any  day  and 
devour  him.  There  were  people  all  about,  wherever 

83 


84  OLD  HAM ';   OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

she  went,  who  professed  to  be  friends  with  this  great 
enemy  of  hers,  to  hold  intercourse  with  and  receive 
benefits  from  Him  ;  and  all  such  persons  she  held  as 
her  own  foes.  Melissa  had  never  loved  Kit ;  she  con- 
sidered her  an  interloper,  taking  a  share  of  the  com- 
mon funds  which  she  might  have  enjoyed  if  Kit  had 
not  come  into  the  family.  Moreover,  she  was  jealous 
of  Kit's  undeniable  beauty  and  wit ;  and,  strange  to 
say,  of  the  child's  growing  influence  over  poor  Mrs. 
Mallory.  Melissa  had  never  loved  her  step-mother, 
and  she  was  habitually  unkind  to  her,  professing  to 
believe  that  half  her  insanity  was  affectation,  and 
declaring  that  it  might  be  driven  out  of  her  if  Sy- 
mantha  did  not  indulge  and  coddle  her  so.  Mrs. 
Mallory  was  afraid  of  Melissa,  and  always  worse 
when  left  to  her  care ;  but  she  liked  Kit  though  she 
did  not  always  know  her,  and,  unless  when  at  the 
worst,  was  usually  docile,  or  at  least  passive,  in  her 
hands.  Melissa  felt  this  to  be  a  new  injury.  She 
liked,  as  Symantha  said,  to  get  a  handle  against  the 
child  ;  and  now  she  flattered  herself  that  she  had 
found  one.  She  had  suspected  Kit's  purpose,  had 
watched  her  go,  and  seen  her  return,  and  was  all 
ready  to  catch  her  when  she  came  in. 

"Well,  Kit,  did  you  have  a  good  meeting?" 
Phin  Mallory  had  been  to  Oldbury,  and  had  come 
home  in  a  very  bad  humor, — a  circumstance  on 
which  Melissa  had  fully  calculated.  He  was  reading 
his  newspaper  by  the  light  of  a  very  dismal  kerosene 
lamp,  which  burned  viciously  sideways  when  he 
turned  it  up,  and  smoked  sulkily  when  he  turned  it 
down, — a  circumstance  which  did  not  improve  his 
temper  in  the  least. 


THE   ENEMY.  85 

"  Meeting ! "  said  Phin,  dropping  bis  paper.  "  What 
do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  been  to  meeting,"  said  Kit. 

"  You  didn't  go  into  the  house,  but  you  stood  and 
listened  under  the  window,"  said  Melissa.  "  You 
needn't  deny  it,  for  I  saw  you  with  my  own  eyes." 

"  Well,  suppose  I  did  :  where  was  the  harm  ? "  said 
Kit  boldly,  though  she  trembled  as  she  saw  her  uncle's 
eyes  fixed  on  her.  "  I  like  to  hear  the  singing. 
There  was  one  of  the  young  ladies  at  the  stone  house, 
and  she  sang  beautifully." 

"Come  here,"  said  Phin  sternly.  Kit  dared  not 
disobey.  Her  uncle  took  her  by  the  shoulder,  and 
shook  her  till  she  was  giddy,  ending  with  a  sharp  box 
on  the  ear. 

"  Take  that  for  a  sample  of  what  you  will  get  if 
you  ever  go  to  that  place  again,"  said  he,  pushing 
her  away.  "  I  won't  have  you  go  near  these  people. 
Do  you  hear  ?  " 

Kit  looked  at  him  with  a  white  face  and  blazing 
eyes,  but  did  not  answer. 

"Just  look  in  her  pocket,  and  see  what  you  will 
find  there,  pa,"  said  Melissa  with  a  sneering  laugh. 
"  You  didn't  know  what  a  saint  you  had  in  the  family. 
See  here!" 

She  caught  hold  of  Kit's  dress  as  she  spoke,  and, 
despite  her  struggles,  pulled  out  her  precious  Testa- 
ment, which  she  handed  to  her  father.  Phin  took  it, 
and  threw  it  into  the  fire.  With  a  cry  of  anguish  Kit 
sprang  to  rescue  her  treasure,  but  only  succeeded  in 
setting  fire  to  the  sleeve  of  her  dress,  and  burning  her 
own  hand  severely. 


86  OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  Serves  you  right,"  said  Phin.  "You  let  me  see 
you  have  such  a  book  again,  and  I'll  put  you  where 
you  won't  see  book  or  school  either.  I've  had  enough 
of  pious  folks,  without  your  taking  up  the  dodge,  —  a 
set  of  hypocrites  who  set  themselves  up  above  every- 
body else,  and  look  down  on  their  betters.  I  won't 
have  it.  Do  you  hear  ?  Stop  that  noise,  and  answer 
me." 

Quite  beside  herself  with  pain  and  anger,  Kit 
turned  on  her  uncle,  and  would  have  returned  his  blow 
if  Symantha  had  not  caught  her  hand.  At  that 
moment  there  came  a  cry  from  the  inner  room,  —  a 
wail  of  such  despairing  anguish  as  might  have  come 
from  a  lost  spirit,  —  "They  have  taken  away  my  Lord. 
They  have  taken  Him  away,  and  I  know  not  where 
they  have  laid  Him." 

"  There,  now  you  have  done  it,"  said  Symantha 
angrily.  "  Now  we  shall  have  no  rest  all  night,  and 
perhaps  have  the  neighbors  coming  in  to  see  what  is 
the  matter.  —  Don't  cry,  Kit.  Come  here,  and  let  me 
do  up  your  hand.  — Just  see  there,  father  !  "  she  added 
indignantly,  holding  up  Kit's  arm  for  his  inspection. 
The  hand  and  wrist  were  fearfully  scorched,  and 
already  covered  with  blisters. 

"  Why  didn't  she  mind,  then  ?  "  said  Phin  sullenly. 
•'I'm  sure  I  didn't  mean  to  burn  her."  To  do  him 
justice,  he  was  already  ashamed  of  his  outburst.  He 
was  not  usually  so  ill-natured,  but  he  had  had  a  hard 
time  in  Oldbury  that  day.  He  had,  so  to  say,  fought 
for  his  soul,  and  lost. 

"  There,  don't  cry  any  more,"  said  Symantha  after 
she  had  covered  the  burnt  arm  thickly  with  flour,  and 


THE   ENEMY.  87 

done  it  up  in  cotton.  "  I'll  help  you  to  bed.  And 
maybe  you  will  get  another  Testament  some  time  : 
who  knows  ?  Don't  cry  if  you  can  help  it,  that's  a 
good  girl :  you  will  make  ma  worse,  and  then  I  shall 
not  know  what  to  do." 

"  I'll  do  any  thing  for  you,  because  you  are  so 
good,  and  I  love  you,"  said  Kit,  trying  hard  to 
restrain  her  sobs ;  "  but  I  hate  Melissa,  and  I  hate 
uncle  Phin.  So  !  " 

"  Hush,  hush  !  There,  try  to  go  to  sleep.  Pa  will 
be  sorry  tomorrow.  He  was  dreadfully  put  out 
when  he  came  home.  I'm  afraid  "  — 

"Afraid  of  what?"  asked  Kit,  as  Symantha 
checked  herself. 

"  I'm  afraid  ma  is  going  to  have  a  dreadful  night," 
answered  Symantha  hastily.  "  There,  don't  cry  any 
more,  but  try  and  lie  still,  and  lay  your  hand  on  this 
pillow  ;  and  I  hope  you  will  go  to  sleep.  Poor  child ! 
it  was  a  bad  day  for  you  when  you  came  to  us." 

Kit's  hand  was  badly  burned,  and  smarted  terribly  ; 
but  her  tears,  which  had  full  way  when  Symantha 
left  her,  were  caused  more  by  anguish  of  heart  than 
by  bodily  pain.  She  was  furious  against  her  uncle 
and  Melissa,  especially  the  latter,  whom  she  justly 
considered  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble ;  and  Kit  was 
one  of  those  natures  to  whom  rage  was  grief.  But 
that  was  not  the  worst.  The  little  wild  girl  who  had 
so  lately  set  out  in  the  Christian  pilgrimage  had 
already  met  with  Apollyon  in  his  worst  form. 

"And  I  was  trying  so  hard  to  be  good!"  she 
sobbed,  talking  to  herself  as  lonely,  neglected  chil- 
dren so  often  do.  "  I  was  trying  so  hard  to  do  what 


88  OLD  HA  AT;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

I  thought  He  would  like !  and  Miss  Armstrong  said 
He  would  help  me,  and  that  old  lady  said  the  same 
in  the  meeting;  and  He  didn't  help  me,  oh,  He 
didn't  help  me  a  bit.  He  let  Melissa  tell  of  me,  and 
uncle  Phin  shake  me,  and  burn  my  Testament.  Oh, 
dear,  oh,  dear !  what  if  uncle  Phin  should  be  right, 
and  there  shouldn't  be  any  such  person,  after  all  ? " 

Kit  sobbed  anew,  and  even  cried  aloud,  in  the 
anguish  of  this  doubt.  The  story  which  had  brought 
such  light  and  comfort,  such  wonderful  and  glorious 
possibilities,  into  her  dark  and  sordid  life,  which  had 
added  such  new  beauties  to  what  she  loved  best,  — 
if  that  story  were  not  true,  after  all ! 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  live,  I  don't  want  to  live," 
cried  Kit  aloud.  "  If  there  isn't  any  Lord  Jesus,  I 
don't  want  to  live  at  all."  r 

"  Stop  that  noise,  Kit,  or  I'll  whip  you,"  said 
Melissa,  opening  the  door.  "  You  little  fool,  to  make 
such  a  fuss  about  an  old  book  full  of  silly  stories  ! " 

Somehow  this  appearance  and  assault  of  her  enemy 
seemed  to  give  Kit  a  little  comfort.  Satan  is  always 
easier  to  fight  when  he  comes  in  a  bodily  shape. 

"  It  isn't  a  book  full  of  stories  :  it  is  the  truth, 
and  you  know  it,  Melissa  Mallory.  You  know  it  is 
true.  There  is  a  God,  and  He  is  my  Father ;  and,  if 
you  abuse  me,  He  will  punish  you.  He  can  see  all 
you  do.  Don't  you  dare  to  touch  me  !  " 

And  she  did  not.     That  something  she  had  never 

dared  to  search   out,  and    had    never  been   able   to 

silence,  stirred  in  her  heart.     What  if  it  should  be 

true,  as    Kit   said  ?     She   contented   herself   with  a 

1  A  fact. 


THE  ENEMY.  89 

threatening  gesture,  and  withdrew,  shutting  the  door. 
Kit's  sturdy  profession  of  faith  had  at  least  com- 
forted herself.  Yes,  she  would  believe  in  Him.  If 
He  was  good,  as  Miss  Armstrong  said,  perhaps  He 
would  make  some  good  come  out  of  this  trouble,  after 
all.  Then  Kit  remembered  that  she  had  not  said 
her  prayers.  She  rose  softly  from  her  bed ;  and, 
kneeling  down  in  the  bright  moonlight,  she  said  her 
little  hymn,  and  as  much  of  the  Lord's  Prayer  as 
she  remembered,  for  she  had  not  yet  learned  it  quite 
perfectly.  There  was  something  in  it,  she  knew, 
about  forgiving  trespasses.  "That  means  sins,  Miss 
Armstrong  said ;  if  we  don't  forgive  people,  He 
won't  forgive  us.  But,  oh,  dear!  how  can  I  forgive 
uncle  Phin  for  burning  my  book?  And  Melissa  —  it 
was  all  her  fault."  Kit  thought  a  little,  and  then 
knelt  down  again.  Her  prayer  was  very  simple  :  "  I 
can't  forgive  them  myself ;  but  if  it  is  true,  what 
teacher  says,  you  can  make  me.  Please  do,  and  help 
me ;  for  I  haven't  got  any  friends  only  Miss  Arm- 
strong." Kit's  faith  was  but  weak  and  faltering, 
like  that  of  the  poor  father,  "  If  thou  canst  do  any 
thing,  have  compassion  on  us,  and  help  us  ;"  but  the 
same  compassionate  ear  is  ready  to  hear,  and  the 
same  hand  to  save,  now  as  then. 

Kit  lay  awake  a  long  time  ;  but  at  last  the  pain  in 
her  hand  grew  less,  and  she  fell  asleep.  She  slept 
longer  than  usual,  and  when  she  waked  the  sun  was 
shining  into  her  room. 

"It  must  be  ever  so  late,"  thought  Kit.  She 
started  up,  and  her  first  move  reminded  her  of  all 
that  had  happened  the  night  before. 


90  OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  How  shall  I  ever  get  dressed  ? "  she  thought. 
She  made  out  to  put  her  clothes  on  ;  but  to  fasten 
them  was  beyond  her  power,  so  she  went  down  to 
find  Symantha. 

Symantha  was  moving  softly  about  the  kitchen, 
busy  in  setting  things  to  rights.  She  held  up  her 
finger  as  Kit  opened  the  door. 

"Is  aunt  asleep?"  asked  Kit  in  a  whisper.  "Did 
she  have  a  bad  night  ?  I  thought  I  heard  her." 

"  Yes,  she  did  not  go  to  sleep  till  sunrise.  Pa  has 
gone  out  to  the  barn  to  get  a  nap  on  the  hay,  arid 
Melissa  is  not  up  yet." 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  can  all  sleep  but  you ;  that  is 
always  the  way,"  said  Kit  indignantly. 

"  I'm  used  to  it,"  answered  Symantha,  smiling 
rather  grimly.  "  Here's  your  coffee  hot  on  the  stove, 
and  I'll  fry  you  an  egg.  How  does  your  hand  feel  ? " 

"  It  doesn't  smart  so  much,  but  it  is  awful  sore," 
said  Kit,  wincing  as  she  tried  to  move  it.  "  I  can't 
bear  to  put  it  down,  it  hurts  so." 

Symantha  found  a  large  handkerchief,  with  which 
she  made  a  sling  for  the  wounded  arm,  which  she  did 
up  again  in  fresh,  clean  cotton-wool,  —  the  very  best 
dressing  for  a  burn. 

"That  is  more  comfortable,"  said  she.  "You 
must  be  careful  not  to  hurt  it  or  get  cold  in  it,  or 
you  will  have  a  bad  hand." 

"  Can't  I  go  to  school  ? "  asked  Kit  in  dismay. 

"  Oh,  yes,  if  you  will  be  careful,  and  not  hurt  your- 
self playing.  You  will  be  as  well  off  there  as  here. 
Eat  your  breakfast  or  dinner,  whichever  it  is,  and 
you  will  be  in  good  time  for  afternoon." 


THE   ENEMY.  9 1 

"  Is  it  as  late  as  that  ?  "  asked  Kit.  Symantha 
pointed  to  the  clock,  which  stood  at  half-past  eleven. 

"  I  never  thought  it  was  so  late,"  said  Kit.  "Why 
didn't  you  call  me  ?  " 

"Because  you  needed  the  sleep,  child.  There,  eat 
your  breakfast  while  it  is  hot." 

Symantha  took  her  sewing,  and  sat  down  by  Kit 
in  the  window. 

"  How  good  you  are  to  me !  "  said  Kit  gratefully. 
"  You  do  love  me,  don't  you,  Symantha  ? " 

"  Yes,  child,  I  do,"  answered  Symantha  with  sud- 
den earnestness.  "  You  are  about  the  only  comfort 
I  have ;  but  I  love  you  so  much  that  I  should  like 
to  send  you  a  thousand  miles  away,  where  I  should 
never  see  you  again,  if  I  could  only  get  you  a  good 
home  by  it." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  go  a  thousand  miles  away," 
said  Kit.  "  I  want  to  stay  with  you,  and  help  you, 
for  I  love  you." 

"Then,  Kit,  if  you  love  me,  promise  me  one  thing," 
said  Symantha.  "Promise  me  that  you  won't  let  any 
one  —  pa,  or  Melissa,  or  anybody  —  drive  you,  or  coax 
or  bribe  you,  to  do  any  thing  wrong.  If  you  have 
any  doubt  about  the  matter,  come  and  ask  me." 

"I  won't,"  answered  Kit  earnestly.  "There  isn't 
much  danger  with  Melissa,  because  I  don't  like  her 
a  bit ;  but  uncle  Phin  is  real  good  to  me  sometimes. 
I  don't  see  what  ailed  him  last  night." 

"  He  was  put  out  about  something  when  he  came 
home,  and  he  was  vexed  about  your  going  to  meeting. 
And,  Kit,  that  is  a  thing  you  must  not  do  again  ;  at 
least,  not  now.  Nothing  makes  father  so  angry." 


Q2  OLD  HAM;   OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"I  won't,  then,"  said  Kit;  "but  I  should  like  to." 
She  was  silent  a  while,  and  then  asked,  in  a  half 
whisper,  "Symantha,  was  it  religion  that  made  aunt 
Martha  crazy  ?  " 

Symantha  nodded. 

"  I  thought  it  might  be,  because  she  always  says 
that"  said  Kit.  "  How  was  it  ?  " 

"  She  was  brought  up  to  be  very  religious,  and  to 
go  to  church,  and  all  that,"  replied  Symantha  in  the 
same  low  tone.  "  She  was  a  regular  church-member 
when  she  married  pa,  and,  oh,  such  a  pretty,  bright 
creature !  Kit,  whatever  happens,  you  must  always 
be  good  to  ma.  There  is  more  reason  for  it  than 
you  know." 

"I  will,"  said  Kit.  "I  think  she  likes  me  too.  But, 
if  aunt  Martha  was  such  a  religious  woman,  how 
came  she  to  marry  uncle  Phin  ?  Wasn't  he  the  same 
that  he  is  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  much  the  same,  so  far  as  that  goes ; 
only  he  was  not  so  rough  in  his  ways.  He  was  very 
handsome  in  those  days,  and  could  make  himself 
very  agreeable ;  and  ma  thought  she  was  going  to 
influence  and  convert  him,  but  it  worked  the  other 
way." 

"  Seems  to  me  I  should  rather  convert  a  man  first, 
and  marry  him  afterward,"  said  Kit.  "And  what 
then?" 

"  Well,  there  isn't  much  to  tell.  She  used  to  try 
to  argue  with  pa,  but  she  was  no  match  for  him  that 
way.  She  used  to  get  vexed,  and  then  he  would  laugh 
at  her.  By  and  by  she  got  to  not  going  to  church  ; 
and  then  pa  coaxed  her  to  go  out  riding  with  him 


THE  ENEMY.  93 

Sundays,  and  do  other  things  that  she  thought  were 
wrong.  After  a  while  she  began  to  be  melancholy 
and  queer,  and  at  last  one  day  she  tried  to  kill  her- 
self. Ever  since  then  she  has  been  as  she  is  now." 

"Seems  to  me  it  wasn't  her  religion  that  made  her 
crazy,  so  much  as  losing  it,"  said  Kit  shrewdly. 

"  Sometimes  I  have  thought  that,  myself.  It  was 
a  bad  day  for  her  when  she  got  acquainted  with  our 
family." 

"What  was  aunt  Martha's  name  before  she  was 
married  ?  "  asked  Kit. 

"  I  don't  remember,"  answered  Symantha,  getting 
up  and  going  into  the  pantry.  "-Don't  you  want  to 
run  out  and  see  if  you  can  find  some  fresh  eggs  ? 
If  you  can,  I'll  make  ma  a  custard." 

"  Why,  my  dear  child,  what  is  the  matter  ? "  said 
Miss  Armstrong  as  Kit  made  her  appearance  at 
school  with  her  arm  in  a  sling.  "  What  has  hap- 
pened to  your  hand  ? " 

"I  burnt  it,"  answered  Kit,  coloring  painfully;  for 
she  saw  the  girls  looking  at  her,  and  felt,  as  one  is 
apt  to  do  at  such  times,  as  if  they  must  know  all 
about  it. 

"You  look  hardly  fit  to  come  to  school,"  remarked 
Miss  Armstrong  kindly.  She  did  not  ask  how  the 
accident  happened  ;  guessing,  with  the  happy  instinct 
that  belongs  to  some  people,  that  there  was  some 
unpleasant  story  connected  with  it.  "Do  you  feel 
able  to  learn  your  lesson  ?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  would  rather  study  than  not," 
answered  Kit.  "  My  arm  does  not  hurt  me  so  very 
much  now  when  I  keep  it  still." 


94  OLD II AM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

Kit  was  quite  sincere  in  what  she  said.  She  felt, 
rather  than  thought,  that  the  labor  of  fixing  the 
column  of  words  beginning  with  "Abase,  Abate," 
would  be  a  relief  from  the  tormenting  thoughts 
which  had  driven  her  almost  wild.  She  set  herself 
to  work  in  good  earnest  to  master  her  lesson.  But 
her  mind  would  wander,  in  spite  of  herself;  and,  when 
she  came  to  .recite,  she  missed  two  or  three  times, 
and  went  down  to  the  very  bottom  of  the  class.  Kit 
was  tired  and  nervous  for  want  of  sleep,  and  very 
unhappy  besides ;  the  consequence  of  which  was, 
that,  as  Faith  Fletcher  went  above  her,  she  lost  her 
temper,  gave  Faith  a  push,  and  called  her  by  a  very 
naughty  name.  The  children  looked  at  each  other 
in  horror.  Miss  Armstrong  only  said, — 

"  Kitty  may  go  and  sit  down.  I 'will  talk  to  her 
by  and  by.  The  children  may  have  a  recess." 

"  Well,"  said  Selina  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of 
doors,  "  I  hope  Miss  Armstrong  has  got  enough  of 
her  favorite.  It  is  lucky  for  Kit  she  had  not  Miss 
Martin  to  deal  with.  Wouldn't  she  have  caught  it !  " 

"  Maybe  she  will  catch  it  as  it  is,"  remarked  Agnes 
Gleason. 

"  I  don't  believe  Miss  Armstrong  will  do  any  more 
than  talk  to  her.  I  am  sure  I  hope  not,"  said  gentle 
Faith.  "  Poor  Kit  is  half  sick  :  any  one  can  see  that 
by  looking  at  her.  And  it  isn't  as  if  one  of  us  had 
said  it.  I  don't  believe  she  has  ever  been  taught  any 
better." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,  I  hope  Miss  Armstrong  will 
send  her  home,"  said  Selina:  "she  has  no  business 
here,  using  such  language,  and  teaching  the  children 


THE  ENEMY.  95 

it.  But,  girls,  didn't  we  Rave  a  good  meeting  last 
night  ?  I  think  that  old  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  is  just  love- 
ly. Miss  Armstrong  says  she  is  a  great  missionary 
woman  ;  perhaps  she  will  start  a  society  here." 

"  Then  she  will  do  what  nobody  else  has  done," 
remarked  Agnes  Gleason.  "  I  remember  how  hard 
Miss  Martin  tried.  But  what  does  this  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt  do,  Selina  ?  Did  Miss  Armstrong  tell  you  ? " 

"  Oh,  she  is  always  sending  boxes  to  poor  mission- 
aries in  the  West ;  and  she  keeps  two  ladies  in  India, 
and  pays  all  their  expenses,  —  Bible-women,  Miss 
Armstrong  called  them.  I  wish  she  would  send  me. 
I  should  love  to  go,  dearly." 

"  Yes,  you  would  be  a  fine  hand !  "  said  Sarah 
Leet.  "I  suppose,  the  first  time  a  little  Chinese  or 
African  child  said  a  bad  word,  you  would  send  it 
home,  and  not  let  it  come  to  school  any  more." 

"  That  would  be  very  different,"  said  Selina,  color- 
ing, as  the  girls  laughed. 

"Yes,  very  different ;  having  a  whole  village  full 
of  children  who  never  learned  even  the  commonest 
decency,  and  having  one  poor  little  thing  who  is  try- 
ing her  best  to  be  good,"  returned  Sarah.  "Suppose 
she  did  forget  herself  for  once  :  we  all  do  it  some- 
times ;  if  not  in  one  way,  then  in  another.  Don't 
you  ever  forget  yourself,  and  say  things  you  ought 
not  to  ? " 

"  Yes  —  you —  did  —  you  —  know — you — did!  " 
chimed  in  from  the  ring  of  little  ones,  who  were 
"counting  out  "  for  a  game  of  tag.  All  the  girls 
laughed,  the  words  came  so  pat. 

"  Yes,  we  did,  we  know  we  did,"  repeated  Agnes. 


96  OLDHAM;   OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  But,  Sarah,  you  need  not  be  so  hard  on  Selina, 
either,"  she  added,  as  Selina  walked  away.  "  You 
think  she  ought  to  have  patience  and  charity  with 
Kit.  Why  can't  you  have  a  little  for  her,  instead  of 
always  poking  her  up  ?  " 

"  Well,  she  puts  on  such  airs.  I  like  to  make  her 
show  her  true  colors." 

"  You  don't  always  make  people  show  their  true 
colors  in  that  way,"  remarked  Agnes.  "  Suppose  I 
should  slap  your  face,  and  make  your  eye  all  black 
and  blue  :  would  those  be  your  true  colors  ?  " 

"Well,  no,  perhaps  not,"  returned  Sarah,  whose 
frankness  was  her  most  promising  trait  ;  "  but  then, 
you  know,  I  don't  pretend  to  equal  St.  Agnes." 
Sarah  had  read  somewhere  of  a  St.  Agnes,  and  liked 
to  tease  Agnes  with  the  name. 

"  I  am  not  a  saint.  I  wish  I  were,"  replied  Agnes, 
coloring.  "  But  I  will  tell  you  one  thing,  Sarah  and 
Faith,"  she  added,  with  an  evident  effort  :  "  if  by  a 
saint  you  mean  a  true  Christian,  I  am  going  to  try 
and  be  one.  I  have  been  thinking  about  it  a  good 
while,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  last  night." 

"  Well,  I  only  hope  you  will  stick  to  it,  that's  all," 
said  Sarah,  while  Faith  got  hold  of  Agnes's  hand  and 
squeezed  it.  "  The  trouble  of  these  sudden  conver- 
sions is,  that  people  don't  hold  out." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know ;  St.  Paul  held  out  pretty 
well,  and  so  did  St.  John." 

"  Oh,  well,  they  were  saints." 

"  What  is  a  saint,  anyhow  ? "  asked  Faith.  x  "  I 
have  heard  the  word  all  my  life,  and  don't  know, 
really,  what  it  means." 


THE  ENEMY.  97 

"  I  thought  a  saint  was  a  person  who  never  did 
any  thing  wrong,"  said  Sarah. 

"  Then  I  am  sure  none  of  the  apostles  were  saints, 
for  they  all  did  wrong.  Let  us  ask  Miss  Armstrong 
after  reading-class.  It  will  come  in  easily  enough, 
for  the  lesson  is  about  Polycarp,  and  he  was  called  a 
saint,  I  know.  Come,  there  is  the  bell." 

Kit's  ill  temper,  if  it  deserved  so  harsh  a  name, 
found  vent  in  a  flood  of  tears  as  soon  as  she  reached 
her  desk.  She  expected  and  half  hoped  that  Miss 
Armstrong  would  scold  her,  and  perhaps  punish  her ; 
for  bad  language  was  justly  looked  upon  as  a  griev- 
ous offence.  But  Miss  Armstrong  did  nothing  of  the 
kind.  She  waited  till  the  first  violence  of  the  storm 
hc'i  spent  itself,  and  then  said  in  that  firm,  kindly 
to  .  3  of  hers,  which  somehow  carried  obedience  with 
it,— 

"  There,  Kitty,  don't  cry  any  more :  you  will  only 
make  yourself  worse.  Wash  your  face  and  hands, 
and  then  I  should  like  to  have  you  run  down  to  the 
mill,  and  ask  Mr.  Bassett  to  send  me  some  chalk ; 
we  are  quite  out.  As  to  this  trouble  of  yours,  we 
will  talk  about  it  after  school.  You  need  not  hurry ; 
I  will  excuse  you  if  you  are  a  little  late." 

"  How  good  she  is ! "  thought  Kit,  with  a  feeling 
of  absolute  wonder,  as  she  bathed  her  red  eyes  and 
aching  head  at  the  spring  which  boiled  up  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  yard.  "  Oh,  if  I  could  only  be  good,  like 
that ! " 

As  she  was  going  out  of  the  yard  she  met  Faith, 
who  spoke  to  her  pleasantly. 

"  Where  now,  Kitty  ?     Going  home  ? " 


98  OLDHAM;   OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"No;  Miss  Armstrong  sent  me  of  an  errand." 
She  was  passing  on  when  it  occurred  to  her  that 
here,  at  least,  was  something  she  might  do.  She 
called  "Faith  !  "  and  as  Faith  turned  back  she  said, 
with  a  quiver  in  her  voice,  "  I  am  sorry  I  called  you 
that  name.  It  was  real  mean,  for  it  was  not  your 
fault  that  I  missed." 

"  Never  mind,0  said  Faith,  kissing  her.  "  I'm  sure 
I  don't  bear  malice.  But,  Kitty  dear,  I  wouldn't  say 
such  words  if  I  were  you." 

"I  won't  —  not  if  I  can  help  it;  but  you  don't 
know  how  hard  it  is  to  be  good." 

"  Don't  I !  "  said  Faith.  "  It  is  as  hard  for  me  as 
any  one,  I  guess.  But  there,  don't  cry,"  for  Kit's 
tears  were  running  over  once  more :  "  I'm  sure  you 
won't  do  it  again." 

Kit  went  on  her  way  with  her  heart  greatly  light- 
ened. She  found  Mr.  Bassett  busy,  as  usual,  but 
not  too  busy  to  lend  an  ear  to  her  request. 

"  Chalk,  eh  ?  oh,  yes  ;  I've  got  plenty,  if  I  can  only 
find  it.  Let  me  see.  Here's  an  apple  for  you,  any- 
how. If  we  don't  find  one  thing,  we  find  another, 
you  see.  Don't  you  want  this  little  box  to  put  your 
pencils  and  things  in  ?  Well,  here's  the  chalk,  finally, 
and  plenty  of  it ;  and  here  is  a  little  paper  for  you. 
Let  me  see  ;  I  didn't  see  any  of  your  folks  at  the 
schoolhouse  last  night." 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  wanted  to  go,  but  I  knew  they  wouldn't 
let  me.  I  did  listen  under  the  window,  and  uncle 
Phin  did  not  like  it  a  bit." 

"Poor  child!"  said  the  miller  kindly.  "Well, 
well,  you  must  take  your  troubles  to  the  right  place, 


THE  ENEMY  99 

and  you  will  find  help  somehow.  You  know  that, 
don't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  sir:  I  heard  Miss  Armstrong  say  so.  But 
I  must  hurry  back  now,  because  she  will  want  the 
chalk." 

"  Poor  little  young  one  !  "  repeated  Mr.  Bassett  to 
himself.  "  I  must  talk  over  her  case  with  ma,  and 
see  what  can  be  done  for  her." 

"  Just  in  time,  Kitty,"  said  Miss  Armstrong  pleas- 
antly, as  Kit  entered,  somewhat  out  of  breath. 
"  Now,  as  you  cannot  very  well  do  sums  with  your 
left  hand,  you  may  take  this  book,  and  learn  the 
hymn  I  have  marked ;  and  we  will  hear  you  repeat  it 
in  the  reading-class." 

Kit  took  the  book  with  pleasure,  for  she  loved 
learning  verses.  The  hymn  was  the  time-honored 
one  beginning,  — 

"Jesus  Christ,  my  Lord  and  Saviour, 
Once  became  a  child  like  me." 

"I  suppose  that  is  so,"  thought  Kit  as  she  laid 
down  the  book  to  repeat  the  first  verse  to  herself. 
"  He  was  just  as  old  as  I  am,  once ;  but  He  never 
would  say  such  words. 

'All  my  nature  is  unholy; 

Pride  and  passion  dwell  within.' 

"  I'm  sure  that  is  true  enough.  But  I  don't  see 
how  I  am  to  help  it :  the  more  I  try,  the  worse  I 
am.  I  never  knew  I  was  half  so  bad  till  I  began  to 
read  in  the  Testament. 

"  *  Lord,  assist  a  feeble  creature.* 


100          OLDHAAf;   OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"That  means  me,  I  am  sure.  There  isn't  any  one 
more  feeble  than  I  am.  '  Assist '  means  '  help/  I 
know.  Oh,  dear!  I  do  wish  He  would  help  me." 
And  Kit  put  her  head  down  on  the  desk,  and  cried 
a  little.  But  the  tears  did  not  scorch  her  eyes,  like 
the  others  :  they  were  cool,  and  seemed  to  take  some 
of  the  weight  off  her  heart  which  had  lain  there 
ever  since  the  night  before. 

"  Now  we  will  have  Kitty's  hymn,"  said  Miss 
Armstrong  as  the  reading-lesson  was  finished;  "and 
then,  if  there  are  any  questions  to  be  asked,  I  shall 
like  to  hear  them." 

All  the  girls  looked  at  Kit,  some  of  them  expect- 
ing that  she  would  refuse  to  obey.  They  were  mis- 
taken. Kit  repeated  her  hymn  with  a  somewhat 
unsteady  voice,  it  is  true,  but  without  hesitation  and 
without  a  single  blunder.  Then,  with  a  visible  effort, 
she  said,  — 

"  Please,  Miss  Armstrong,  I  am  sorry  I  was  so 
naughty  in  the  spelling-class.  I  won't  do  so  again." 

"That  is  right,  Kitty,"  said  Miss  Armstrong,  much 
gratified.  "But  there  is  one  thing  more  for  you 
to  do." 

"  Please,  Miss  Armstrong,  she  did  tell  me  she  was 
sorry,"  said  Faith  eagerly.  "  She  said  so  in  recess." 

"So  much  the  better.  And  you  do  forgive  her, 
Faith,  I  am  sure." 

"Yes,  indeed!"  answered  Faith  heartily.  "I 
didn't  mind  much  about  it,  anyway.  I  don't  believe 
she  would  have  done  it  if  she  hadn't  felt  sick." 

"That  wasn't  any  excuse,"  said  Kit,  "  I  was  just 
as  cross  as  I  could  be." 


THE   ENEMY.  IOI 

"We  will  let  the  matter  drop  now,"  said  Miss 
Armstrong.  "I  should  like  to  talk  with  Kitty  a  few 
minutes  after  school.  Now,  are  there  any  questions 
to  be  answered  ?  " 

"Please,  Miss  Armstrong,  what  is  a  saint  ?"  asked 
Agnes. 

"  Can  any  one  answer  that  question  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Armstrong.  "  What  is  a  saint  ?  " 

"  A  very  good  person ;  one  that  never  does  any 
thing  wrong,"  said  one  of  the  girls  rather  doubt- 
fully. 

"  That  is  what  I  said  ;  but  Faith  thought  it  was  not 
right,  because  the  apostles  all  did  wrong  things." 

"  A  saint  is  somebody  who  pretends  to  be  better 
than  other  folks,"  said  Lucinda  Kurd,  who  always 
resented  any  praise  bestowed  on  another  person  as 
so  much  taken  from  herself. 

"I  think  not,"  said  Miss  Armstrong,  "or  St.  Paul 
would  hardly  have  told  the  Corinthians  that  they 
were  called  to  be  saints.  He  would  not  have  told 
them  that  they  were  called  upon  to  pretend  to  be 
better  than  their  neighbors." 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Selina ;  "but  I  always 
thought  a  saint  was  somebody  like  the  people  we 
read  about  who  went  and  lived  in  caves  and  hermit- 
ages, and  never  married,  or  had  any  families,  or  ate 
any  meat." 

"That  will  not  answer  the  conditions,  either,"  re- 
marked Miss  Armstrong,  "  because  the  Corinthian 
Christians  were  not  called  on  to  do  any  such  thing 
as  that." 

"  I  can't  remember  that  any  one  in  the  Bible  was 


IO2          OLDHAM ';    OK,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

called  on  to  do  that,"  remarked  Faith.  "  But,  Miss 
Armstrong,  won't  you  tell  us  what  a  saint  is?" 

"I  will  tell  you  what  I  think,"  said  Miss  Arm- 
strong. "A  saint  is  a  person  whose  life  is  conse- 
crated to  God ;  that  is,  given  to  Him  to  be  His 
entirely.  Or,  to  put  it  in  other  words,  a  saint  is  one 
who  has  made  up  his  mind  to  serve  God  with  all  his 
powers  of  body  and  mind.  Such  a  person  may  be 
faulty  and  imperfect,  often  stumbling  and  even  fall- 
ing ;  but  he  keeps  his  purpose  always  in  view.  When 
he  falls,  he  confesses  his  sin,  and  asks  forgiveness,  and 
begins  again,  humbled  but  not  discouraged.  When 
he  sees  a  duty,  he  strives  to  do  it  at  whatever  incon- 
venience or  sacrifice  to  himself.  He  tries  always 
to  keep  alive  in  his  heart  a  sense  of  the  presence  of 
God  and  his  Saviour,  and  to  see  every  thing  as  they 
would  see  it.  That  is  my  idea  of  a  saint." 

"  But  could  any  one  be  like  that  ? "  asked  Faith 
doubtfully. 

"  I  can  do  all  things  through  Christ  which  strength- 
eneth  me"  (Phil.  iv.  13),  quoted  Miss  Armstrong. 
"There  is  the  secret,  depend  upon  it.  Now  we  must 
not  talk  any  longer.  Take  this  matter  home,  and 
think  about  it." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   SPRINGING   GRAIN. 

"  Now,  Kitty,  let  us  get  at  the  bottom  of  all  this 
trouble  of  ours,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  Agnes, 
do  you  wish  to  see  me  ? " 

"  Yes,  please,  Miss  Armstrong.  But  I  will  wait :  I 
haven't  so  far  to  go  as  Kit  has.  Or  I  don't  know 
why  I  should  mind  speaking  before  her,"  said  Agnes, 
coloring.  "  It  isn't  any  thing  I  need  be  ashamed  of. 
I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  try  to  be  a  real  Chris- 
tian, Miss  Armstrong.  I  don't  know  whether  I  shall 
have  strength  to  persevere,  but  I  am  going  to  begin." 

"  You  will  surely  have  strength  to  persevere  if  you 
only  look  in  the  right  place  for  it,  my  dear  child," 
said  Miss  Armstrong,  kissing  her.  "  You  don't  know 
how  glad  I  am  to  hear  you  say  this,  Agnes.  Tell 
me,  when  did  you  make  up  your  mind  ? " 

"  Last  night,  after  I  went  home.  I  have  been 
thinking  a  great  deal  about  the  matter  lately,  and 
somehow  what  that  old  lady  said  seemed  to  bring  me 
right  to  the  point.  I  seemed  to  realize  that  the  Lord 
died  for  me,  just  as  much  as  if  there  had  been  no  one 
else  to  die  for ;  and  I  couldn't  hold  out  after  that." 

103 


104          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  You  were  led  to  see  the  truth,  and  the  truth  has 
made  you  free,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  He  did  die 
for  you,  and  for  me,  and  for  little  Kitty  here,  just  as 
much  as  if  there  had  been  no  one  else  to  die  for ;  and 
He  loves  us  as  much  as  if  He  had  no  one  else  to  love. 
Have  you  told  your  mother,  Agnes  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  I  am  going  to  tell  her  to-night.  Ma 
isn't  a  church-member  herself,  but  I  think  she  will 
be  glad.  She  always  wants  me  to  go  to  church  and 
Sunday  school,  and  she  never  would  let  me  go  walk- 
ing on  Sundays  with  Milly  Richmond.  Oh,  dear !  I 
wish  the  Richmonds  were  not  coming." 

"Don't  borrow  trouble,  dear  child.  Trust  your 
best  Friend  to  do  what  is  best  for  you,  and  make  all 
things  work  together  for  your  good.  I  will  talk  with 
you  again  as  soon  as  I  can.  Good-night." 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  Agnes's  best  friend  ? " 
asked  Kit,  as  Agnes  left  the  room. 

"  Her  Father  in  heaven,  and  her  Saviour,"  an- 
swered Miss  Armstrong;  "you  know  I  told  you  that 
before,  Kitty." 

"  Well,"  said  Kit  with  a  deep  sigh,  "  I  wish  He 
was  my  friend,  that's  all ;  but  I  don't  think  He  is." 

"  Why  not,  my  poor  child  ?  " 

"  If  He  had  been,  He  wouldn't  have  let  Melissa 
put  uncle  Phin  up  to  shake  me,  and  burn  my  book, 
all  because  —  I" —  The  recital  of  her  wrongs  was 
too  much  for  poor  Kit,  and  she  burst  into  a  fresh 
agony  of  crying.  Miss  Armstrong  took  her  on  her 
lap,  pressed  the  hot  head  against  her  bosom,  and  by 
and  by  began  gently  to  soothe  and  check  the  out- 
burst. 


THE  SPRINGING   GRAIN.  105 

"Tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  she  when  Kit  was  quiet 
enough  to  speak.  Kit  sobbed  out  the  story  of  her 
wrongs. 

"And  you  think  He  does  not  love  you,  because  He 
lets  you  have  trouble  ?  My  dear,  that  is  a  great  mis- 
take. He  has  never  promised  us  freedom  from  trouble 
in  this  world  :  on  the  contrary,  He  has  expressly  said, 
'  In  the  world  ye  shall  have  tribulation.'  But  He 
adds  in  the  same  breath,  '  Be  of  good  cheer ;  I  have 
overcome  the  world.'  He  says  in  another  place  that 
He  sends  us  trouble,  or  lets  trouble  come,  to  make 
us  more  fit  for  heaven,  just  as  the  kindest  parents 
sometimes  punish  their  children." 

"Then  I  don't  see  how  Christians  are  any  better 
off  than  other  folks,  after  all,"  said  Kit,  "if  they 
have  troubles  just  the  same." 

"  They  don't  have  them  just  the  same,  Kitty.  It 
is  not  just  the  same  whether  a  child  is  a  slave,  and 
beaten  by  a  cruel  master,  or  whether  it  is  punished 
to  cure  it  of  its  faults  by  a  kind  and  loving  father." 

"That  is  so,"  answered  Kit. 

"And  there  is  another  thing  about  it,"  continued 
Miss  Armstrong.  "  Suppose  I  should  say  to  you, 
'  Kitty,  if  you  will  bear  all  your  troubles  patiently, 
and  do  your  work  as  well  as  you  can  for  one  week, 
then  I  will  take  you  home  to  live  with  me,  and  be 
happy  all  the  rest  of  your  life,'  would  the  time  seem 
long  or  hard  to  you  then  ? " 

"  No,  indeed  !"  said  Kit,  with  kindling  eyes.  "I 
would  work  my  fingers  to  the  bone,  and  never  say  a 
word,  whatever  happened." 

"  Well,  that  is  the  way  our  Father  treats  his  chil- 


106          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

dren.  He  lets  them  have  plenty  of  trouble  and  sor- 
row here,  —  sometimes  it  seems  as  if  the  best  people 
had  the  most  of  it, — but  He  promises  them  a  home 
with  Him  in  heaven,  where  they  shall  never  know 
any  pain  and  grief,  but  be  happy  and  holy  for  ever 
and  ever.  Just  think  !  when  we  look  back  on  our 
present  life,  after  we  have  been  in  that  blessed  place 
a  million  years,  it  will  not  look  very  long  or  very 
hard  to  us." 

"No,  indeed!"  said  Kit,  drawing  a  long  breath. 
"A  million  years  without  any  trouble  ;  happy  all 
the  time  !  It  just  takes  my  breath  away." 

"  And  then  to  be  no  nearer  the  end  than  before," 
said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  I  used  to  hear  an  old  hymn 
sung,  of  which  this  was  the  last  verse,  — 

"'When  I've  been  there  ten  thousand  days, 

Bright  shining  as  the  sun,' 
I've  just  as  long  to  sing  God's  praise 
As  though  I'd  just  begun.'" 

"Yes,  it  is  nice  for  you,  and  L  am  glad  you  are 
going  there,"  said  Kit,  her  face  darkening  again  ; 
"but  it  won't  do  me  any  good.  /  shall  never  get 
there,  I  know." 

"And  why  not,  my  little  girl  ?  " 

"  I  shall  never  be  good  enough,"  answered  Kit. 
"  I  have  tried  and  tried  to  be  good.  Every  morning 
since  I  came  to  school  I  have  said  to  myself,  '  Now, 
I  won't  do  one  wrong  thing  to-day;'  and  I  do  all 
the  time.  And,  if  I  don't  act  wrong  things,  I  think 
them.  I  never  can  be  like  what  it  says  in  the  Tes- 
tament,—  like  what  He  was." 


THE  SPRINGING   GRAIN.  IO/ 

"  Poor  Kitty  !  I  don't  wonder  you  are  discouraged. 
Why,  my  child,  if  people  were  to  be  saved  by  their 
own  goodness,  there  would  not  be  one  in  paradise  at 
this  minute.  It  is  because  Christ  died  for  us,  that 
we  are  saved ;  because  He  bore  our  sins  for  us 
when  He  was  nailed  to  the  cross ;  because  He  died 
for  us,  and  rose  from  the  dead  for  us,  and  pleads  for 
us  at  the  right  hand  of  God.  We  are  not  to  be 
saved  because  we  are  good,  but  we  are  to  be  good 
because  we  are  saved." 

Kit's  face  brightened  a  little.  "  I  don't  quite  un- 
derstand," said  she. 

"  It  is  just  this,  Kitty :  you  have  not  to  earn  eter- 
nal happiness.  You  never  could  do  that,  and  you 
have  no  need  to  try.  The  Lord  Jesus  has  done 
that  for  you.  He  bore  the  punishment  of  all  our 
sins  when  He  was  here  on  earth  ;  and  what  we  have 
to  do  is,  to  believe  that  He  has  done  so,  to  put  our 
trust  in  Him,  and  give  ourselves  to  Him  to  be  His. 
See  what  the  Bible  says  about  it  :  '  God  so  loved 
the  world,  that  He  gave  His  only  begotten  Son,  that 
whosoever  believeth  in  Him  should  not  perish,  but 
have  everlasting  life'  (St.  John  iii.  16)  ;  'God  com- 
mendeth  His  love  toward  us,  in  that,  while  we  were 
yet  sinners,  Christ  died  for  us'  (Rom.  v.  8);  'He 
that  believeth  on  the  Son  hath  everlasting  life' 
(St.  John  iii.  36)." 

"  Then  all  the  goodness  is  in  believing,"  said  Kit. 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear.  There  is  no  more  goodness 
in  believing  than  in  any  thing  else  ;  but  we  shall  not 
ask  Him  to  save  us  unless  we  believe  He  can  do  it. 
Just  so,  you  might  be  drowning,  and  some  one  might 


108          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

throw  you  a  rope :  unless  you  believed  that  the 
rope  would  save  you,  you  would  not  take  hold  of  it ; 
and  yet  there  would  be  no  goodness  in  taking  Laid 
of  it." 

"  I  see  now  !  "  exclaimed  Kit :  "just  as  there  might 
be  a  doctor  in  Oldbury  who  could  cure  aunt  Martha ; 
but  unless  uncle  Phin  believed  it,  and  went  after  him, 
he  would  be  of  no  use  to  her.  But,  Miss  Armstrong, 
will  God  save  me  like  that  ? "  asked  Kit  with  a  tone 
of  deep  reverence,  and  a  far-off  look  in  her  great 
blue  eyes.  "Will  He  do  all  that  just  because  I  ask 
Him,  —  a  poor  little  naughty,  ignorant  girl,  like  me, 
.tat  don't  know  any  thing  about  Him  hardly?  It 
seems  too  good  to  be  true." 

"  It  is  not  one  bit  too  good  to  be  true.  You  have 
only  to  ask  Him,  and  the  work  is  done,  now  and 
forever." 

"  And  won't  I  ever  do  any  thing  wrong  again  ? " 

"  I  cannot  say  that,  Kitty.  As  long  as  we  are  in 
the  world,  we  have  to  fight  with  temptations  from 
without,  and  with  the  sinful  nature  that  is  born  in 
*s.  But,  if  we  are  faithful  in  asking,  He  will  give 
us  strength  to  conquer  ;  and,  if  we  do  fall  into  sin, 
He  will  help  us  out.  l  If  we  confess  our  sins,  He  is 
faithful  and  just  to  forgive  us  our  sins,  and  to  cleanse 
us  from  all  unrighteousness'  (i  John  i.  9).  He  not 
only  forgives  us  our  sins,  but  He  washes  them  away, 
and  makes  them  as  if  they  had  never  been.  Only 
God  can  do  that." 

"  I  can  see  that,"  said  Kit.  "  Men  can't  make  the 
least  thing  to  be  as  if  it  had  never  been,  if  they  are 
ever  so  sorry  about  it."  She  sat  still  a  moment,  and 


THE  SPRINGING    GRAIN.  1 09 

then  turned  to  her  friend  with  a  great  light  shining 
in  her  sweet  face. 

"Well,  then,  Miss  Armstrong,  I  don't  see  but  I 
am  saved,  after  all ;  because  I  do  want  Him  to  save 
me,  and  I  do  believe  He  can." 

"Then  you  certainly  are,  my  precious  child,"  said 
Miss  Armstrong,  her  own  eyes  overflowing.  "  Let 
us  thank  Him,  Kitty,  for  all  His  goodness." 

About  an  hour  after  this  conversation,  two  young 
ladies,  walking  over  the  hill,  came  to  Kit's  favorite 
haunt,  and  stood  still  in  admiration  at  the  picture 
presented  to  them.  Kit  was  lying  on  the  ground, 
her  head  pillowed  on  the  mossy  flat  stone  which  was 
her  favorite  seat,  fast  asleep.  Her  hat  lay  on  the 
grass  beside  her,  her  long  dark  lashes  rested  on  her 
cheeks,  and  the  soft  summer  wind  was  gently  play- 
ing with  her  black  curls,  as  if  it  feared  to  wake  her. 
It  almost  seemed  from  her  attitude  that  she  had 
been  kneeling  by  the  stone,  and  had  sunk  down  over- 
powered with  sleep. 

"What  an  exquisite  picture!"  whispered  Amity. 
"  What  a  pity  Percy  is  not  here  with  her  sketch- 
book." 

"It  is  lovely,"  answered  Ida  in  the  same  tone. 
"  But  she  ought  not  to  lie  there  :  she  will  take  cold. 
Her  hand  is  hurt  too.  Poor  little  dear,  I  wonder 
who  she  is.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  her,  and  yet  it 
seems  as  if  I  had  seen  her  before." 

"  I  was  just  thinking  the  same.  But  we  must  not 
leave  her  here.  She  might  sleep  till  dark,  and  awake 
frightened  out  of  her  senses,  and  with  rheumatic 
fever  into  the  bargain." 


1 10         OLDHAM;   OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

As  Amity  spoke,  she  bent  down  and  kissed  the 
little  sleeper.  Kit  awoke,  and  started  to  her  feet 
with  a  little  cry  of  pain,  as  the  sudden  movement 
shook  her  burned  hand. 

"  My  poor  child,  did  you  hurt  yourself  ? "  said 
Amity  kindly.  "  I  am  sorry  I  gave  you  such  a  start. 
I  only  meant  to  wake  you,  and  keep  you  from  get- 
ting cold.  What  ails  your  arm  ? " 

"  I  burned  it ;  but  it  is  not  very  bad  now,  only  I 
twisted  it  a  little,  getting  up,"  answered  Kit.  "  I 
can't  think  how  I  came  to  go  to  sleep,  only  I  was  so 
tired.  Ain't  you  the  lady  that  sung  at  the  meeting 
last  night  ?  "  she  ventured  to  ask  shyly. 

"  Yes,  my  dear.     Were  you  there  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am  ;  but  I  stood  under  the  window  and 
listened.  Uncle  won't  let  me  go  to  meeting.  He 
don't  believe  in  God  or  any  such  thing." 

"And  don't  you  believe  in  Him  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  do,"  answered  Kit,  with  a  quiet 
decision  which  made  Ida  and  Amity  exchange 
glances.  "I  feel  as  though  I  bad  just  got  to  believe 
in  Him  ;  for  He's  all  the  friend  I've  got,  only  Miss 
Armstrong  and  Symantha." 

"  He  is  the  best  you  could  have.  What  is  your 
name  ? "  m 

"  Kit  Mallory,  ma'am  ;  at  least,  that  is  what  every 
one  calls  me,  only  Miss  Armstrong  calls  me  Kitty." 

"  Well,  Kitty,  can  you  direct  us  a  short  way  to 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt's  house  ?  We  have  walked  farther 
than  we  meant,  and  are  both  tired." 

"You  are  near  by  now,"  said  Kit;  "you  can  see 
the  house  when  you  are  past  this  ledge,  and  I'll 


THE  SPRINGING   GRAIN.  Ill 

show  you  a  cow-path  that  goes  close  by  the  barn. 
Wouldn't  you  like  a  drink?"  she  added;  "this  is 
real  nice  water,  and  I've  got  a  cup  I  keep  here." 

"Thank  you,  that  will  be  very  refreshing,"  said 
Amity.  Kit  produced  her  cup,  washed  it  in  the 
stream,  and  filled  it  at  the  spring-head.  Both  the 
girls  drank,  and  praised  the  cool,  sweet  draught. 

"What  a  lovely  spring!"  said  Amity,  bending 
down  to  look  into  its  depths. 

"  It  has  great  bubbles  in  it,"  said  Kit.  "  If  you 
watch,  you  will  see  one  presently.  There !  isn't  that 
pretty  ?  " 

"It  is,  indeed,"  said  Amity.     "Look,  Ida." 

"  I  see,"  replied  Ida,  bending  down  in  her  turn. 
"  I  see,  too,  that  the  sun  is  getting  low,  and  aunt 
Barbara  will  be  uneasy  about  us.  So  this  is  the 
way,  is  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  ma'am.  Keep  in  the  path,  and  you  won't 
get  into  any  of  the  soft  places." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear.     Good-night." 

As  Kit  bent  over  the  spring  to  dip  a  cup  of  water 
for  herself,  she  saw  something  red  and  golden  lying 
under  the  great  tuft  of  lady-fern  which  partly  over- 
hung the  water.  She  picked  it  up.  It  was  a  beauti- 
fully bound  little  book,  bearing  marks  of  a  great  deal 
of  careful  wear;  and,  on  opening  it,  Kit  saw  that  it 
was  a  New  Testament. 

Her  heart  gave  a  great  bound  at  the  sight.  She 
had  been  asking  for  a  Testament  before  she  went  to 
sleep,  and  here  it  was.  Then  came  another  thought. 
One  of  the  young  ladies  must  have  dropped  it.  Kit 
could  read  writing.  She  turned  to  the  fly-leaf,  and 


112          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

read,  written  in  a  clear  though  somewhat  tremulous 
hand,  — 

"  Amity,  with  mother's  love,  on  her  tenth  birth- 
day." 

Underneath  was  written,  in  another  hand,  "The 
very  day  my  dear  mother  died." 

"It  is  that  plain  young  lady's,  the  one  they  say 
is  so  rich,"  thought  Kit.  "Well,  she  can  buy  plenty 
more,  and  I  haven't  any.  But  then  she  must  think 
every  thing  of  it,  because  her  mother  gave  it  to  her. 
Oh,  dear !  I  wish  I  knew  what  to  do.  It  does  seem 
as  though  I  ought  to  have  it." 

Just  then  something  seemed  to  whisper  in  Kit's 
ear  a  verse  she  had  read  in  her  own  Testament  only 
the  day  before,  —  "  Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men 
should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them." 

" He  said  that,"  said  Kit,  speaking  aloud.  "Sup- 
pose /  had  a  Testament  that  mother  gave  me,  and  I 
should  lose  it,  and  some  one  should  find  it."  . 

Kit  did  not  hesitate  another  moment.  She  ran 
down  the  hill  as  fast  as  she  could,  and  overtook  the 
young  ladies  just  at  their  own  gate. 

"  Why,  here  is  our  little  friend  again,"  said  Amity. 
"My  clear  child,  how  you  have  put  yourself  out  of 
breath  ! " 

"  Isn't  this  yours  ?  "  asked  Kit,  producing  the  book. 
"I  found  it  down  by  the  spring." 

"  It  is,  indeed  !  "  replied  Amity.  "  My  dear  child, 
how  can  I  thank  you  enough  ?  I  would  rather  have 
lost  almost  any  thing  else  that  I  possess." 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  sorry  to  lose  it,  because 
it  had  your  mother's  writing  in  it,"  said  Kit,  feeling 


SPRINGING    GRAIN.  113 

very  happy  as  Amity  kissed  her.  "  I  know,  if  I  had 
a  Testament  that  my  mother  gave  me,  how  much  I 
would  think  of  it.  But  I  must  hurry  home." 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Amity.  "  Kitty,  I  want  to 
give  you  something,  not  as  a  reward,  but  as  a  keep- 
sake. What  shall  it  be  ?  " 

Kit's  carnation  cheeks  grew  more  beautiful  than 
ever,  between  eagerness  and  bashfulness. 

"If  it  wouldn't  be  impudent  to  ask,  if  you  had  a 
little  old  Testament  you  could  give  me,"  she  said. 

"  Would  you  rather  have  a  little  one  than  a  large 
one  ?  "  asked  Amity. 

"  Yes,  because  I  could  hide  it  easier." 

"Wait  just  a  moment,"  said  Amity.  "So  she  has 
to  hide  her  Testament,"  she  remarked  to  Ida  as  they 
went  into  the  house. 

"  They  are  a  dreadfully  hard  family,  from  all  I 
hear,"  answered  Ida.  "  One  of  aunt  Barbara's  soft- 
covered  Testaments  will  be  just  the  thing  for  her." 

Mrs.  Barbara  Van  Zandt  was  sitting  by  the  parlor 
window,  hemming  a  napkin  with  an  exquisite  over- 
hand hem.  She  was  almost  always  hemming  nap- 
kins when  she  was  not  buying  them  or  packing  them 
in  neat  parcels  to  send  away,  and  she  had  brought 
abundance  of  her  favorite  fancy-work  with  her  to  the 
country. 

"  You  are  late,"  said  she  as  the  girls  entered.  "  I 
began  to  think  you  were  lost." 

"So  we  were,"  said  Ida;  "and  I  don't  know 
where  we  should  have  landed,  only  for  a  little  girl  — 
such  an  odd,  lovely  child!  —  whom  we  found  asleep 
on  the  hill-top." 


114          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  And,  aunt  Barbara,  will  you  give  me  one  of  your 
nice  Testaments  for  her  ? "  added  Amity.  "  She 
says  she  would  rather  have  a  little  Testament  than 
any  thing ;  but  it  must  be  a  small  one,  because  she 
has  to  hide  it." 

Aunt  Barbara  rose  with  alacrity.  "  Poor  child,  how 
sad  !  Yes,  I  have  just  the  thing  for  her.  In  that 
cupboard  by  the  fireplace,  Amity.  No,  not  that ;  the 
one  with  soft  covers.  Where  is  the  child  ?  " 

"Out  by  the  door,"  answered  Amity.  "  She  says 
she  dare  not  come  in.  Do  come  and  look  at  her, 
aunt  Barbara,  and  tell  us  who  she  is  like." 

"  So  you  are  the  little  girl  who  would  rather  have 
a  Testament  than  any  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Zandt 
in  those  peculiar  deep,  soft  tones  of  hers.  "Well, 
here  is  a  nice  one  for  you.  Look  up,  my  dear." 

"Who  is  she  like,  aunt?"  asked  Ida.  "I  can't 
think,  and  I  am  sure  I  have  seen  that  face  before." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  picture  which  hangs  in 
my  sewing-room  at  home?  "asked  Mrs.  Van  Zandt. 
"  She  is  the  living  image  of  my  poor  lost  Kathleen 
Joyce." 

"  Please,  ma'am,  would  you  say  that  name  again  ? " 
asked  Kit,  trembling  with  eagerness. 

"  Kathleen  Joyce,"  repeated  Mrs.  Van  Zandt. 
"  Did  you  ever  hear  the  name  before  ? " 

"  That  was  my  name  !  That  was  it !  "  exclaimed 
Kit  exultingly.  "Kathleen,  that  is  it !  I  knew  it 
was  not  Keturah,  I  knew  it  wasn't." 

"  Kathleen  ?  Kathleen  what  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt  as  eagerly  as  herself. 

"  I  don't  know.     I  mustn't  stay  another  minute," 


THE  SPRINGING   GRAIN.  115 

said  Kit  in  a  tone  of  alarm  as  the  clock  struck.  "  I 
forgot  uncle  Phin  told  me  never  to  come  here." 

"Don't  keep  her,  Mrs.  Van  Zandt,"  said  Aggy,  an 
elderly  colored  woman  who  had  taken  care  of  the 
house  for  years,  speaking  in  an  undertone.  "  He  is 
an  awful  man,  and  there  is  no  telling  what  he  might 
do." 

"  Well,  good-night,  dear  child.  Perhaps  we  shall 
meet  again.  I  must  see  her  somehow,"  added  Mrs. 
Van  Zandt,  looking  after  Kit  as  she  hurried  away. 
"  If  she  is  not  Kathleen  Joyce's  child,  there  is  noth- 
ing in  resemblances. 

"  And  she  said  her  name  was  Kathleen/4  observed 
Ida.  "How  strange!" 

"  I  wonder  if  this  man  is  really  her  uncle,"  said 
Amity. 

"  Melissa  Mallory  says  not,"  replied  Aggy.  "  She 
says  her  father  took  Kit  from  the  poorhouse,  but 
there  is  no  telling  any  thing  by  that.  —  Miss  Ida,  do 
come  in  out  of  the  dew,  and  let  your  aunt  get  her  tea. 
She'll  be  having  one  of  her  headaches  again,  and 
your  hand  will  be  paining  you  all  night." 

"Kathleen^  Kathleen,"  repeated  Mrs.  Van  Zandt 
as  she  sat  down  to  the  table.  "  1  must  contrive  to 
see  that  child  again." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  SNAKES. 

"  WHERE  is  Miss  Armstrong  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Weston, 
as  Selina  came  home  alone. 

"  I  suppose  she  will  be  here  presently,"  answered 
Selina.  "  Kit  Mallory  was  naughty,  and  she  kept  her 
after  school.  I  would  never  do  that :  I  would  whip 
them,  and  let  them  go.  I  wouldn't  punish  myself 
too." 

''That  would  be  very  well  if  one  thought  only  of 
one's  own  convenience,"  remarked  Mrs.  Weston, 
"but  I  imagine  that  is  not  Miss  Armstrong's  way. 
What  did  Kit  do  ?  "  , 

"  She  called  Faith  Fletcher  bad  names  because 
Faith  went  above  her  in  spelling.  I  hope  Miss  Arm- 
strong will  have  enough  of  her,  that's  all." 

Mrs.  Weston  gave  Selina  a  look  which  checked 
her,  before  she  said,  "  Poor  Kit  needs  to  have  allow- 
ance made  for  her.  She  has  had  very  few  advantages. 
But  you  may  set  the  table,  Selina  ;  I  dare  say  Miss 
Armstrong  will  not  be  long." 

Selina  had  not  really  meant  to  tell  an  untruth, 
—  that  is  to  say,  she  had  not  deliberately  said  to 

116 


THE  SNAKES.  1 1/ 

herself  that  she  would  tell  a  lie  :  that  is  something 
which  people  seldom  do,  —  nor  had  she  told  a  lie  in 
direct  words.  It  was  in  consequence  of  her  naughti- 
ness that  Kit  had  staid  after  school.  But  Selina  was 
under  the  dominion  of  what  might  be  called  her  ruling 
passion,  —  a  passion  which  makes  people  do  as  mean 
things  as  any  which  belongs  to  humanity :  she  was 
jealous.  She  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  Miss  Arm- 
strong when  that  lady  first  came,  and  had  said  to 
herself,  that,  as  Miss  Armstrong  boarded  at  her 
father's  house,  she  (Selina)  would  see  more  of  her 
than  any  one  else,  and  would  therefore  be  the  teach- 
er's particular  friend.  Now,  there  was  no  harm  in 
Selina's  wishing  the  teacher  to  like  her;  the  trouble 
was,  that  she  did  not  want  Miss  Armstrong  to  like 
any  one  else.  This  passion  of  jealousy  had  been  the 
bane  of  Selina's  life.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston  had 
another  adopted  daughter,  who  had  married  and  gone 
to  live  in  Oldbury  about  a  year  before  our  story 
begins.  Elizabeth  had  never  been  any  thing  but  kind 
to  Selina  from  the  first  day  of  her  coming  into  the 
house,  a  rather  forlorn  little  girl  of  ten  years  old. 
It  had  not  given  her  a  single  pang  when  she  was 
told  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston's  determination  to  adopt 
another  child  :  on  the  contrary,  she  was  glad  that 
some  one  else  should  have  the  same  happy  home  as 
herself.  And  when  Selina  was  brought  from  the 
Oldbury  orphan-asylum,  the  only  home  she  could 
remember,  Elizabeth,  then  a  womanly  girl  of  sixteen, 
had  done  her  best  to  make  her  feel  contented.  But 
no  kindness  can  make  a  jealous  person  happy.  In 
the  asylum  Selina  had  always  watched  the  other  chil- 


Il8          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

dren's  meals,  to  see  whether  some  one  had  not  a 
larger  bit  of  butter,  a  fatter  doughnut,  a  redder  apple, 
than  herself;  and  she  brought  the  same  spirit  into  her 
new  home.  She  soon  became  quite  sure  that  mother 
loved  Lizzy  the  best,  all  because  Lizzy  had  curly 
hair  and  red  cheeks.  Lizzy  had  a  new  summer  frock, 
while  hers  was  mother's  last  summer's  dress  made 
over;  Lizzy  had  mother's  beautiful  gray  merino  made 
over  for  winter,  while  she  had  a  woollen  plaid  out  of 
the  store  at  the  Corners  :  and;one  was  just  as  much 
a  grievance  as  the  other.  She  was  glad  when  Lizzy 
married  and  went  away  ;  but  now  Lizzy  had  a  boy 
baby  which  was  named  after  Mr.  Weston,  and  Selina 
was  quite  sure  that  father  and  mother  would  never 
care  for  her  again.  Miss  Armstrong  had  been  very 
kind  to  her,  that  she  must  needs  allow;  but  then,  she 
had  been  just  as  kind  to  all  the  others,  and  Selina 
was*quite  sure  that  she  liked  Agnes  Gleason's  reading 
the  best.  That  was  always  the  way,  she  said  to  her- 
self with  a  sigh.  It  was  her  fate,  and  she  must  bear 
it.  Some  time,  perhaps,  she  would  find  some  one 
who  would  love  her  best  of  all. 

"  So  you  had  a  case  of  discipline,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Weston  as  the  family  sat  down  to  the  tea-table. 

"  I  thought  you'd  find  it  wasn't  all  such  plain 
sailing,"  said  Aunt  Betsy  Burr,  who  had  happened  in 
to  borrow  a  cup  of  maple  molasses.  Aunt  Betsy's 
errands  generally  did  bring  her  to  her  neighbors 
about  meal-times.  "There's  some  dreadful  bad  chil- 
dren about  here.  Those  Bassett  boys  yelled  right 
in  front  of  my  door  last  night  when  they  were  com- 
ing home  from  hoeing  potatoes  up  to  the  hill  farm." 


THE  SNAKES.  1 19 

"  It  was  not  a  case  of  discipline,  though  it  might 
have  been  if  the  culprit  had  not  put  discipline  out 
of  the  question  by  her  own  act,"  replied  Miss  Arm- 
strong. "The  poor  child  did  forget  herself;  but  she 
acknowledged  her  fault,  and  asked  pardon  before  the 
whole  school,  and  that  of  her  own  motion.  There 
was  no  room  for  discipline  after  that.  I  did  keep 
her,  but  it  was  to  comfort  and  help  her  a  little.  She 
has  burned  her  hand  badly,  and  was  feeling  very 
unhappy  over  the  loss  of  an  old  Testament  she  had 
found  somewhere." 

Mrs.  Weston  looked  at  Selina,  who  looked  at  her 
plate. 

"I  am  sorry  for  that  child.  I  think  she  has  hard 
times,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "I  met  Phin  Mallory  at 
Oldbury  yesterday,  and  he  told  me  he  was  going  to 
make  a  fuss  at  the  next  school-meeting  about  having 
the  Bible  read  in  school." 

"And  what  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  his  wife. 

"Well,  I  tried  to  reason  with  him  at  first;  but  I 
found  there  was  no  use  in  that,  so  I  told  him  to  make 
all  the  fuss  he  wanted  to." 

"I  don't  know,  though,"  said  Aunt  Betsy.  "I 
ain't  sure  it  is  lawful  to  take  up  the  time  of  the 
scholars  with  Bible  lessons." 

Miss  Armstrong  only  smiled. 

"And  so  poor  Kit  has  lost  her  Testament,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Weston.  "  Well,  we  must  try  to  let  her 
have  another.  Does  she  think  so  much  of  it  as  all 
that?" 

"She  does,  indeed,"  answered  Miss  Armstrong. 
"  I  have  never  met  any  one  who  seemed  to  have  a 


120          OLDHAM ';    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

greater  craving  for  the  truth.  I  believe  that  child 
is  going  to  grow  up  a  true  Christian  in  spite  of  her 
adverse  circumstances." 

"  I  should  think  she  took  a  queer  way  to  show  it, 
—  calling  the  other  girls  names,"  said  Aunt  Betsy. 
"For  my  part,  I  don't  believe  she  will  ever  be  any 
thing  but  a  regular  little  reprobate." 

"  Who  is  calling  names  now,  Aunt  Betsy  ? "  asked 
Mr.  Weston,  smiling. 

Aunt  Betsy  maintained  a  dignified  silence,  and 
betook  herself  to  the  consumption  of  canned  cher- 
ries as  if  that  were  the  only  object  in  life  worthy 
her  notice. 

"The  truth  often  finds  readier  entrance  into  such 
a  heart  as  Kit's  than  into  one  which  had  heard  the 
gospel  preached,  and  remained  closed  against  it," 
remarked  Miss  Armstrong  ;  "  at  least,  that  has  been 
the  result  of  my  observation  both  with  the  heathen 
and  among  the  mission  children  in  the  city." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "  The  hard- 
est sinners  to  melt  are  gospel-hardened  sinners.  I 
thought  a  good  many  people  seemed  touched  last 
night.  The  Jewsbury  girls  were  very  attentive,  I 
observed,  and  so  was  Agnes  Gleason.  That  is 
another  child  I  feel  great  interest  in." 

"  I  must  not  violate  confidence,  but  I  may  just  say 
I  have  reason  to  hope  we  may  hear  good  news  of 
Agnes,"  said  Miss  Armstrong,  smiling.  "  I  had  a 
nice  little  talk  with  her,  which  was  another  thing 
that  kept  me." 

"  Well,  I  hope  her  mother  won't  put  no  stum- 
bling-blocks in  her  way  if  she  really  is  trying  to 


THE  SNAKES.  121 

be  a  Christian,  that's  all,"  remarked  Aunt  Betsy. 
"Almira  is  a  dreadful  worldly  woman,  and  always 
was.  The  way  she  nips  into  church  on  Sunday  with 
that  black  silk  dress  of  hers,  and  brushes  off  the 
seat  before  she  sits  down !  You  needn't  laugh, 
Abby.  I've  seen  her  do  it  with  my  own  eyes,  so 
there ! " 

"  I  don't  so  much  blame  her  for  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Weston.  "  I  never  go  into  the  building,  that  I  don't 
want  to  go  to  house-cleaning." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  fun  to  make  a  bee,  and  clean  the 
church  before  the  new  minister  comes?"  said  Selina. 
"We  might  do  it  next  week." 

"  I  declare,  daughter,  that  is  an  excellent  idea," 
said  Mrs.  Weston.  "  It  wouldn't  be  such  a  very 
great  piece  of  work  if  we  all  took  hold  of  it.  —  What 
do  you  say,  father  ?  " 

"  I  agree  with  all  my  heart,"  answered  Mr.  Wes- 
ton. "  I  don't  believe  the  place  has  had  a  thorough 
cleaning  in  twelve  years,  and  it  is  longer  than  that 
since  the  old  house  was  painted.  How  long  is  it, 
Aunt  Betsy  ? " 

"Twenty-five  years  this  cqming  July,"  answered 
Aunt  Betsy.  "  Don't  you  remember,  it  was  the  year 
old  Dr.  Munson  died.  He  was  a  man  !  It  will  be 
a  long  time  before  we  have  any  one  to  fill  his  pulpit. 
This  Mr.  Brace  isn't  going  to  do  it.  Why,  Dr.  Mun- 
son's  folks  were  among  the  first  settlers  of  Oldfield 
County." 

"Well,  if  you  come  to  that,  Mr.  Brace's  great- 
grandfather was  one  of  the  first  settlers  of  River- 
mouth  County,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "  You  may  find  his 


122          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

name  in  Barber's  '  Historical  Collections.'  Though, 
as  he  is  to  preach,  and  not  his  great-grandfather,  I 
don't  see  what  difference  it  makes." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  he  ain't  going  to  fill  Dr.  Mtmson's 
pulpit,"  persisted  Aunt  Betsy.  "  Just  hear  him  read 
the  lessons !  And  he  sings  himself,  for  I  saw  him." 

"And  I  heard  him,  and  thought  he  had  a  very  fine 
voice.  Why  shouldn't  he  sing,  as  well  as  any  one 
else  ? " 

"  Dr.  Munson  never  did.  I  remember  him  as  if  I 
had  seen  him  yesterday." 

"Dr.  Munson  was  a  fine  man,  no  doubt;  but  he 
has  been  dead  and  buried  this  many  a  year,  and  I 
only  wish  his  ghost  did  not  walk,"  said  Mrs.  Weston. 
"  Every  time  we  have  a  new  minister,  somebody  com- 
pares him  with  old  Dr.  Munson,  and  says  he  never 
will  fill  Dr.  Munson's  pulpit." 

"  If  Dr.  Munson  wanted  to  keep  the  pulpit  himself, 
he  should  have  taken  it  away  with  him,"  said  Selina 
rather  pertly. 

"I  don't  believe  he  did,"  said  her  father.  "He 
was  by  far  too  good  and  too  humble-minded  to  wish 
to  remain  a  standard  for  the  measurement  of  all  who 
should  come  after  him.  —  But,  as  to  this  plan  of  the 
child's,  mother,  you  talk  it  up  with  the  women,  and 
I'll  do  the  same  with  the  men ;  and  we'll  see  what 
can  be  done." 

Selina  went  to  her  room  in  a  comfortable  frame  of 
mind.  She  had  escaped  the  blame  which  she  had 
expected,  and  she  had  been  commended  for  her  idea 
of  cleaning  the  church,  and  might  expect  still  more 
praise,  for  her  mother  would  be  sure  to  say  it  was 


THE  SNAKES.  123 

Selina's  notion  in  the  first  place.  Her  self-compla- 
cency began  to  sink  a  little  as  she  heard  her  mother 
coming  up  stairs,  and  remembered  how  she  had  mis- 
represented the  matter  of  Kit's  staying  after  school. 

"  Now  mother  Weston  will  be  coming  to  talk  to 
me,"  she  said  to  herself.  She  had  a  great  dread  of 
these  talks,  which  always  left  her  feeling  very  small 
in  her  own  eyes.  But  mother  Weston  had  no  such 
intention  this  night.  She  began  to  think  there  was 
no  use  in  talking  to  Selina :  so,  like  Christian  in  the 
dark  valley,  she  betook  herself  to  another  weapon, 
called  All-prayer,  which  was  very  familiar  to  her  hand, 
as  it  is,  thank  God !  to  the  hands  6f  most  Christian 
mothers.  Selina  was  destined  to  hear  of  her  fault 
from  another  quarter. 

"  Selina,  how  did  Mrs.  Burr  know  about  Kitty's 
fault  yesterday?"  asked  Miss  Armstrong  as  they 
met  on  the  way  to  school  next  morning.  Selina  had 
not  been  without  her  fears  on  this  point,  and  she 
had  set  out  before  Miss  Armstrong  by  a  different 
route  expressly  to  escape  this  interview ;  but,  as  so 
often  happens  when  we  try  to  avoid  a  person,  she 
came  plump  upon  her  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
the  schoolhouse. 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Betsy  —  every  one  calls  her  Aunt 
Betsy  about  here — she  hears  every  thing!"  an- 
swered Selina  with  assumed  carelessness.  "  And 
she  thinks  all  young  people  are  dreadful.  You  heard 
what  she  said  about  the  Bassett  boys,  and  they  are 
forever  doing  things  for  her." 

"  Yes,  I  heard ;  but  that  is  not  the  point,"  said 
Miss  Armstrong,  seeing  Selina's  object,  but  not  to 


124          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

be  diverted  from  her  purpose.  "  Your  mother,  too, 
spoke  of  a  case  of  discipline.  What  did  you  say 
about  it  ? " 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  remember,"  answered  Selina. 
"  Mother  asked  me  where  you  were,  and  I  said  you 
had  staid  after  school  with  Kit  Mallory.  Then  she 
asked  what  Kit  had  done,  and  I  told  her.  I  did  not 
see  that  Aunt  Betsy  was  there,  or  I  should  not  have 
said  it.  Why,  Miss  Armstrong,  don't  you  want  me  to 
tell  mother  what  happens  in  school?"  asked  Selina, 
thinking  she  saw  a  way  of  "getting  out  of  it,"  as 
she  said.  "  I  always  do  tell  mother  every  thing." 

"  And  you  are  careful  to  tell  her  every  thing  just 
exactly  as  it  happens,  of  course,"  said  Miss  Arm- 
strong, with  a  look  which  made  Selina  feel  that  she 
was  seen  through.  "  For  instance,  you  told  her  last 
night  that  Kit  had  of  her  own  accord  confessed  her 
fault,  and  made  all  the  amends  possible,  before  I  said 
a  word  to  her  on  the  subject." 

"  I  didn't  say  any  thing  but  what  was  true,"  said 
Selina  somewhat  sullenly. 

"  Yes,  but  did  you  tell  all  the  truth  ?  It  is  possible 
to  deceive  even  by  silence ;  and  it  is  the  deception 
that  makes  the  lie,  you  know,  my  dear." 

"  I  will  thank  you  not  to  call  me  a  liar,  Miss  Arm- 
strong," said  Selina,  feeling  that  she  was  in  a  tight 
place,  and  trying  to  get  out  of  it  by  means  of  a  fit 
of  virtuous  indignation.  "That  is  what  nobody  ever 
did  ;  and  I  am  not  going  to  stand  it,  even  from  you." 

"  I  have  not  called  you  a  liar,  Selina,  as  you  know 
very  well.  What  your  own  conscience  tells  you,  is 
another  matter.  Only  remember  this,  that,  while  I 


THE  SNAKES.  125 

make  no  objection  to  your  telling  your  mother  every 
thing  that  concerns  yourself,  I  shall  be  very  much 
displeased  if  I  hear  of  any  gossip  outside  about 
matters  that  go  on  in  school." 

With  these  words  Miss  Armstrong  went  into  the 
schoolhouse,  leaving  Selina  very  angry  with  the 
teacher,  herself,  and  all  the  world.  There  is  nothing 
so  exasperating  as  an  accusing  conscience  when  one 
is  determined  not  to  listen  to  it.  Selina  had  no 
mind  either  to  join  Miss  Armstrong  in  the  school- 
house,  or  to  be  left  to  the  company  of  her  own 
thoughts ;  and,  seeing  the  Fletcher  children  coming 
down  the  road  in  company  with  Myra  Bassett,  she 
went  to  meet  them. 

"Why,  Myra,  are  you  coming  to  school?"  she 
asked  in  surprise,  for  Myra  was  a  grown-up  girl,  and 
had  been  to  boarding-school  in  Oldbury. 

"  Well,  no ;  at  least,  I  am  not  going  to  begin  Sat- 
urday morning,  though  I  am  not  sure  I  should  not 
do  it  if  ma  could  spare  me,"  answered  Myra,  smiling. 
"I  have  taken  a  great  liking  to  your  Miss  Armstrong. 
I  think  you  are  greatly  favored  in  having  her  for  a 
teacher." 

"  I  guess  we  all  think  so,  don't  we,  Selina?"  said 
Faith. 

11  Of  course,  though  I  don't  see  any  thing  so  very 
wonderful  about  her,"  answered  Selina.  "But  all 
new  brooms  sweep  clean,  with  some  people." 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter  now?"  asked  Sarah 
Leet.  "  I  am  sure  you  began  with  thinking  her  a 
regular  tarragon,  as  poor  James  Davis  says.  What 
has  she  done  to  you  ? " 


126          OLDHAM ';    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  I  did  not  say  she  had  done  any  thing  to  me," 
answered  Selina  somewhat  angrily.  "  I  can  have 
my  own  opinion,  I  suppose.  I  haven't  any  fault  to 
find  with  Miss  Armstrong,  only  I  do  think  she  makes 
a  ridiculous  fuss  over  that  little  Kit  Mallory." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Sarah  in  a  tone  which  implied,  "  Now 
I  understand." 

"  I  don't  see  that  she  makes  any  great  fuss  over 
her,"  said  literal  Faith.  "Of  course  we  all  feel 
interested  in  Kit.  I  don't  know  how  any  one  could 
help  it,  seeing  how  hard  she  tries  to  be  good.  Wasn't 
it  sweet  to  hear  her  ask  pardon  in  the  class,  as  she 
did  yesterday  ? " 

"  Oh,  very  sweet,"  answered  Selina  with  what  she 
meant  to  be  a  tone  of  sarcasm,  but  which  was,  in 
fact,  an  ill-natured  sneer.  "  She  thought  she  was 
going  to  get  a  whipping,  and  took  that  way  to  get 
out  of  it,  and  get  round  Miss  Armstrong." 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  that,"  said  Agnes  Gleason, 
who  had  joined  the  group  in  time  to  hear  the  remark. 
"  In  the  first  place,  Kit  gets  too  many  whippings  to 
care  very  much  about  them  ;  and,  in  the  second  place, 
she  couldn't  possibly  know  that  she  would  get  out  of 
it  in  that  way.  I  believe  she  really  was  sorry,  and 
said  so." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  returned  Faith. 

"  And  so  do  I,"  said  Sarah.  "  But,  Agnes,  I  didn't 
expect  to  see  you  so  early,  or  looking  so  happy." 

"  Why  not  ?  Oh,  I  know  :  because  the  Richmonds 
have  come.  Well,  mother  says  I  shall  not  be  hin- 
dered as  I  was  last  summer.  She  told  Mrs.  Rich- 
mond last  night  that  she  and  Milly  must  get  up  to 


THE  SNAKES.  I2/ 

breakfast  with  us  at  half-past  seven,  as  she  could 
not  keep  me  at  home  to  cook  a  second  breakfast. 
Wasn't  I  glad  !  " 

"  And  what  did  Mrs.  Richmond  say  ?  " 

"Oh,  she  didn't  like  it  at  first,  and  talked  about 
finding  another  boarding-place  ;  and  mother  told  her 
she  could  do  as  she  pleased  about  that.  I  don't 
think  she  would  be  very  sorry  if  they  did  go,  only 
we  all  like  poor  Cordelia." 

"  And  is  poor  Cordelia  to  get  up  at  half-past  seven 
too?"  asked  Selina.  "That  is  rather  hard,  I  think, 
considering  what  bad  nights  she  has." 

"Of  course  not,"  replied  Agnes* with  some  indig- 
nation in  her  tone.  "  Cordelia  always  has  her  break- 
fast in  bed,  and  never  takes  any  thing  anyway  but 
a  cup  of  tea  and  a  bit  of  bread  or  toast.  That  is  a 
very  different  thing  from  getting  a  second  hot  break- 
fast, an  hour  after  we  have  finished  our  own,  for  two 
healthy  women." 

"  Very  different,"  said  Sarah ;  "  but  I  thought 
Milly  alone  would  be  enough  to  bring  a  cloud  to 
your  placid  brow,  as  the  magazine-writers  say." 

"  Oh,  well,  perhaps  I  have  been  hard  upon  Amelia," 
replied  Agnes.  "  She  does  come  across  me  in  so 
many  ways,  she  makes  me  feel  like  a  cat  stroked 
the  wrong  way.  But  I  don't  mean  to  quarrel  with 
her  if  I  can  help  it.  There  comes  Kit.  How  pale 
she  looks !  I  wonder  if  her  arm  is  so  bad." 

At  this  moment  the  conversation  was  disagreeably 
interrupted.  It  is  a  fact  that  Oldfield  County,  and 
especially  the  town  of  Oldham,  has  always  enjoyed, 
and,  what  is  worse,  has  deserved,  a  very  bad  reputa- 


128          OLDHAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

tion  in  the  matter  of  snakes.  It  is  a  snaky  town  at 
all  times ;  and  there  are  certain  years,  when,  for 
some  reason  unknown,  snakes  do  much  more  abound 
than  at  other  times.  This  was  a  "snake  summer." 
The  men  wore  their  thickest  and  highest  boots  when 
they  went  into  the  mowing-lots  and  the  low  mead- 
ows, and  the  children  were  cautioned  to  keep  a  bright 
lookout  in  their  expeditions  after  wintergreens  and 
wild  flowers.  Mr.  Bassett  had  killed  a  big  rattle- 
snake in  his  own  pasture ;  there  were  stories  of  cop- 
perheads ;  and  old  Miss  Jewsbury  declared  that  she 
had  seen  a  serpent  as  thick  as  a  clothes-post  and  as 
long  as  a  well-sweep,  crossing  the  swamp  at  the  foot 
of  her  garden.  But  Miss  Jewsbury  was  given  to  see- 
ing wonderful  sights  under  the  inspiration  of  a  cer- 
tain black  vial  in  the  corner  of  her  cupboard,  and 
nobody  believed  very  deeply  in  the  accuracy  of  her 
snake  story. 

The  Fletcher  twins,  Eddy  and  Eben,  had  run  on 
before  to  meet  Kit,  who  was  a  famous  playmate,  and 
very  fond  of  the  younger  children.  Just  as  they 
came  near  her,  Ednah  stood  still  literally,  and,  fortu- 
nately for  herself,  too  much  scared  to  move ;  while 
Eben  screamed,  — 

"  A  snake,  a  snake  !     O  Faithie,  come  !  " 

Faith  stopped,  frozen  with  horror,  and  pointed  to 
the  child.  A  brown  snake  had  actually  wound  itself 
round  her  ankle.  Before  any  one  could  move,  Kit 
turned,  saw  the  situation,  and  was  mistress  of  it. 

"  Don't  move,  Eddy ;  stand  still  !  "  said  she  in  a 
crisp,  clear  tone  of  command.  Then,  reaching  the 
spot  with  one  of  her  agile,  panther-like  springs,  she 


THE  SNAKES.  1 29 

bent  down,  caught  the  snake  with  her  thumb  and 
forefinger  just  behind  the  head,  and,  throwing  it  on 
the  ground,  set  the  heel  of  her  thick  boot  on  its 
head.1 

"  Quick,  girls  !  "  she  cried.  "  Kill  it  before  it  gets 
away." 

Agnes  and  Sarah  sprang  to  the  spot,  and  the 
snake  was  soon  despatched.  Faith  snatched  up 
Eclnah,  and  began  stripping  down  her  stocking. 

"Oh,  it  didn't  bite  her:  it  didn't  have  a  chance," 
said  Kit,  with  a  laugh  that  sounded  slightly  hysteri- 
cal. "  But  it  was  a  close  shave,  wasn't  it,  Eddy  ? " 

"  I  should  think  it  was,  you  dear,  blessed  child  ! " 
exclaimed  Sarah,  sitting  down  on  a  stone,  and  taking 
Kit  on  her  lap.  "There,  sit  still  a  minute.  How 
you  tremble  !  and  no  wonder.  —  Agnes,  get  her  some 
water." 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  any  thing  to  be  so  scared 
at,"  said  Selina.  "  It  was  only  a  garter  snake." 

"  Garter  snake  !  So  are  you  a  garter  snake  !  "  said 
Sarah  contemptuously.  "  Did  you  ever  see  a  garter 
snake  that  color?  —  Mr.  Bassett !  "  she  added,  calling 
to  the  miller,  who  was  just  passing,  "please  come 
and  tell  us  what  kind  of  snake  this  is." 

"  It's  a  real  copperhead,  and  no  mistake,"  pro- 
nounced Mr.  Bassett.  "  It  is  rather  a  young  one, 
but  there  is  no  mistaking  the  nature  of  the  animal. 
See  its  poison  teeth.  Take  care !  don't  touch  'em  : 
the  least  scratch  might  do  for  you.  Who  killed 
it?" 

Agnes    told    the    story,    while    Miss    Armstrong 

1  This  is  no  fiction,  but  an  actual  incident. 


130          OLD  II A  Af;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

fanned  Kit,  who  was  leaning,  very  white,  against 
Sarah's  shoulder. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  brave  child,"  said  Mr.  Bassett. 
"  How  came  you  to  think  of  acting  so  ?  " 

"I  didn't  think:  it  just  came  to  me,"  said  Kit, 
sitting  up.  "I  can't  think  what  makes  me  feel  so 
queer,  only  I  didn't  sleep  much,  my  hand  hurt  me 
so." 

"  There  isn't  one  man  in  a  hundred  would  have 
had  the  presence  of  mind,  even  if  he  had  the  cour- 
age," said  Mr.  Bassett.  "  Myra,  hadn't  we  better  take 
her  over  to  our  house,  and  let  her  lie  down  a  while  ? 
I'll  carry  her." 

"Perhaps  that  will  be  the  best  way,"  said  Miss 
Armstrong.  "Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  with  Mr. 
Bassett,  and  rest  a  little  ?  " 

"And  have  a  nice  cup  of  coffee?"  added  Myra. 

Kit  shook  her  head.  "  I  should  like  it,"  said  she, 
with  a  loving  and  grateful  look  at  Myra  and  her 
father,  "but  uncle  Phin  wouldn't.  He  has  told  me 
never  to  go  into  the  neighbors'  houses  for  any  thing, 
and  I  think  I  ought  to  mind  him." 

"  Of  course  you  ought,"  replied  Mr.  Bassett,  ex- 
changing glances  with  Miss  Armstrong. 

"  I'll  run  home  and  get  the  coffee,  anyway,"  said 
Myra,  whose  kindness,  like  her  mother's,  was  apt  to 
take  a  substantial  form.  "  I  am  sure  she  needs 
something." 

"And  do  you  sit  quietly  here  in  the  shade,  and 
rest,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  Sarah  shall  sit  with 
you,  lest  you  should  be  faint  again." 

"  What   do   you   think   about    Kit    now  ? "    asked 


THE  SNAA'ES.  131 

Agnes  of  Selina,  in  a  low  tone,  as  they  were  hanging 
up  their  hats. 

"  I  think  a  great  fuss  is  being  made  about  noth- 
ing," said  Selina.  "  I  or  anybody  could  have  done 
as  much." 

"  Why  didn't  you,  then  ? "  asked  one  of  the  little 
girls,  who  was  near.  "You  were  as  close  to  Eddy  as 
Kit  was;  and  you  just  stood  still  and  screamed,  for 
I  saw  you." 

Selina  found  it  convenient  not  to  hear  this  remark. 
She  was  listening  to  the  hissing  of  a  snake  in  her 
own  heart,  worse  than  any  copperhead  that  ever 
crawled  in  Oldham, — the  serpent  of  envy  and  jeal- 
ousy. The  copperhead  could,  at  worst,  only  have 
killed  the  child's  body ;  but  her  bosom  companion 
was  poisoning  her  very  soul. 

"  Don't  I  tire  you  ? "  said  Kit  as  Sarah  settled  her 
into  an  easier  position. 

"  Not  you,  you  little  shrimp  ;  I  could  hold  a  dozen 
of  you.  Sit  still  if  you  like  it." 

"  I  do,"  said  Kit.  "  It  seems  so  good  to  be  babied 
a  little,"  she  added  with  a  little  tremor  in  her  voice. 

Sarah  drew  Kit's  head  closer  to  her,  and  kissed 
the  brown  cheek ;  but  she  did  not  speak,  and  Kit 
lay  in  a  kind  of  dreamy  content. 

"Sarah,"  said  she  at  last,  rousing  herself  just  as 
she  seemed  to  be  falling  asleep. 

"  Well,  dear." 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  the  Lord  put  it  into  my 
head,  —  how  to  catch  the  snake,  I  mean  ? " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  answered  Sarah,  who  was  a  girl 
who  thought  about  things.  "Every  thing  good  is 


132          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

from  Him.  I  don't  see  where  else  it  could  have 
come  from." 

"  I  am  so  glad  I  could  do  it,"  said  Kit.  "  How 
dreadful  it  would  have  been  if  the  snake  had  bitten 
Eddy  !  She  might  have  been  dead  by  this  time." 

"  And  suppose  it  had  bitten  you  ? " 

"Well,  that  wouldn't  have  mattered  so  much,  for 
I  am  not  anybody's  girl  as  Eddy  is.  I  suppose 
Symantha  would  have  been  sorry,  though,  because 
she  loves  me.  She  said  she  did,  yesterday." 

"She  must  be  a  queer  woman  if  she  didn't,"  said 
Sarah.  "  See,  here  is  Myra  with  some  nice  coffee  for 
you." 

"  Did  you  think  I  was  ever  so  long  ? "  said  Myra, 
setting  down  her  basket,  and  taking  the  cover  off  a 
little  tin  pail  which  gave  out  a  delicious  odor.  "Ma 
made  fresh  coffee,  and  cut  some  cold  chicken,  be- 
cause she  says  you  ought  to  try  and  eat  a  little. 
There,  drink,  little  one.  What  are  you  looking  at?" 
For  Kit  was  regarding  the  mug  Myra  handed  her, 
with  a  dazed  expression,  knitting  her  brows  as  if 
trying  to  recall  something 

"At  the  mug,"  said  Kit.  "Somehow  it  makes 
me  remember  something,  and  I  can't  tell  what  it  is. 
It  is  just  as  if  I  had  seen  it  before.  I  remember 
those  little  blue  folks  on  the  bridge,  and  somebody 
telling  me  a  story  about  them." 

"  I  dare  say  you  may  have  seen  something  like  it," 
said  Myra  "  It  is  very  old  china.  Ma's  grandfather 
used  to  be  a  sailor,  and  he  brought  a  great  many 
curious  things  from  China  and  India.  There,  do 
drink  your  coffee  :  it  will  be  cold." 


THE  SNAKES.  133 

"  How  good  it  is,  and  how  good  you  all  are  to  me ! " 
said  Kit.  "  I  am  so  glad  uncle  Phin  came  here  to 
live !  I  hope  we  shall  never  move  away.  Symantha 
says  so  too.  She  says  she  has  been  about  the  world 
all  she  ever  wants  to." 

"Then  you  have  moved  a  good  many  times?"  said 
Sarah,  who  shared  in  the  general  curiosity  about 
Phin  Mallory,  —  a  curiosity  not  at  all  unnatural  in 
a  place  where  everybody  knew  everybody,  and  every- 
body's grandfathers,  to  the  third  and  fourth  genera- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  yes !  We  have  lived  in  five  different  places 
since  I  can  remember.  St.  Louis  was  the  first  I 
know.  Then  we  went  farther  west  to  a  new  town  in 
Kansas,  and  then  into  the  Indian  country.  I  liked 
it  there." 

"  Were  you  not  afraid  of  the  Indians  ? "  asked 
Myra,  whose  notions  of  that  people  were  derived 
from  legends  of  the  French  and  Indian  war,  still 
current  in  Oldfield  County.  "  I  should  be." 

"Oh,  no,  you  wouldn't,  not  of  those  Indians.  They 
were  real  nice  folks,  and  so  kind  to  us,  especially 
when  aunt  Martha  was  sick.  They  were  good  Chris- 
tians too.  Uncle  Phin  was  away  a  good  deal ;  and 
sometimes,  when  he  staid  over  Sunday,  I  used  to  go 
to  their  church.  I  was  very  little  then  ;  but  I  re- 
member the  beautiful  singing,  and  the  prayers  they 
used,  —  little  bits  of  them.  'We  have  strayed  like 
lost  sheep,'  that  was  one  ;  I  knew  it  the  minute  Mr. 
Weston  read  it  last  night.  And  the  people  used  to 
say,  'Good  Lord,  deliver  us,'  when  the  minister 
prayed.  But  we  didn't  stay  there  long.  Uncle  Phin 


134          OLDIIAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

says  the  Indians  are  treacherous  dogs,  no  better  than 
wolves ;  but  I  like  them." 

"Have  some  more  coffee,"  said  Myra.  "Well, 
where  did  you  go  then  ? " 

"We  didn't  stay  long  anywhere ;  we  just  travelled 
about.  Finally  we  came  here,  and  I  do  hope  we 
shall  stay  ! " 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Myra.  "  You  must  learn  all  you 
can,  in  case  you  have  to  go  away  again.  Do  you 
feel  better  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  am  quite  well  now.  I  guess  I  will  go 
into  school.  Thank  you  for  the  coffee  and  for  being 
so  good  to  me." 

"  Please  ask  Miss  Armstrong  to  step  to  the  door," 
said  Myra,  gathering  up  her  basket  and  other  matters. 
"Mother  sent  me  on  an  errand  to  her,  and  I  nearly 
forgot  it."  Myra's  errand  was,  to  ask  Miss  Arm- 
strong to  come  to  her  mother's  house  to  tea  that 
afternoon. 

"  Mrs.  Weston  is  coming,  and  so  are  Miss  Celia  and 
Miss  Delia  :  that's  all,  only  I  suppose  Aunt  Betsy  will 
turn  up,  as  usual  ;  oh,  yes !  and  Patience  Fletcher, 
if  she  can  get  away.  Do  come,  Miss  Armstrong : 
ma  wants  to  see  you  so  much,  and  I  want  you  to 
see  grandma.  She  is  such  a  dear  old  lady  !  " 

Miss  Armstrong  smiled,  and  promised  to  come. 
She  would  have  preferred  to  spend  her  half-holiday 
quietly ;  but  she  knew  this  party  was  made  for  her, 
and  she  had  been  used,  all  her  life,  to  putting  herself 
out  of  the  question. 

Of  course  all  the  children  went  home  with  their 
heads  and  mouths  full  of  the  snake  story,  which  lost 


777^  SNAKES.  135 

nothing  in  the  telling.  Kit  was  the  only  one  who 
did  not  mention  it.  Agnes  Gleason  told  of  it  at  the 
table.  She  had  gone  to  her  mother's  room  the  even- 
ing before,  and  opened  her  heart  to  her  with  some 
misgivings,  for  Mrs.  Gleason  was  not  a  woman  who 
made  any  profession  of  religion.  She  was  agreeably 
surprised  at  the  way  in  which  her  communication 
was  received. 

"  I  am  just  as  glad  as  if  you  had  given  me  a  for- 
tune, and  more,"  said  Mrs.  Gleason.  "I  always  have 
hoped  you  would  be  a  Christian." 

"  You  never  said  any  thing  about  it  to  me,  ma," 
said  Agnes.  "  I've  wondered  sometimes  why  you 
didn't." 

"  Well,  I  thought  it  wouldn't  sound  very  well  com- 
ing from  one  who  made  no  profession  of  religion 
herself ;  but  you  know,  Agnes,  I  always  have  kept 
you  at  Sunday  school,  and  I  have  taken  pains  to  have 
you  learn  your  catechism." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  Mrs.  Martin  used  to  say  she 
wished  all  mothers  would  do  as  much.  I'm  so  glad 
you  are  pleased,  ma.  It  makes  me  happier  than  I 
was  before,"  said  Agnes,  her  eyes  overflowing  with 
joyful  tears. 

"  Well,  I  am  pleased,"  said  Mrs.  Gleason  with  em- 
phasis. "  But  I  want  to  tell  you  one  thing,  daughter  : 
I  want  you  to  join  the  church  the  very  first  time 
there  is  a  confirmation  ;  that  is,  if  you  are  sure  you 
know  your  own  mind,  and  I  guess  you  do.  You  are 
pretty  apt  to,  I  will  say  that  for  you." 

"I  think  so,"  said  Agnes.  "I  should  like  to  be 
confirmed.  It  seems  as  if  that  and  the  communion, 


136          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL   WATERS. 

and  all,  would  be  such  a  help  and  safeguard.  I 
thought  perhaps  you  would  think  I  was  too  young  to 
come  forward." 

"I  don't,"  replied  her  mother.  "  Your  grandfather 
Gleason  was  a  minister  of  great  experience,  and  I 
have  heard  him  say  that  the  proportion  of  backslid- 
ers among  young  church-members  is  much  less  than 
among  those  who  wait  till  middle  life.  And  it  stands 
to  reason,  too,  because  they  are  not  so  fixed  in  bad 
habits." 

"  How  did  it  happen,  ma,  that  you  never  were  con- 
firmed yourself  ?  "  asked  Agnes. 

"  Well,  it  was  just  that  way.  We  had  a  large  class 
confirmed  when  I  was  about  your  age.  I  was  very 
serious  at  that  time,  and  I  wanted  very  much  to  come 
forward.  Dr.  Munson  was  in  favor  of  it ;  and  prob- 
ably, if  my  parents  had  been  alive,  I  should  have 
done  so.  But  I  was  living  with  Aunt  Betsy  then,  and 
she  was  against  it.  She  said  I  was  too  young  to 
understand  what  I  was  about,  and  not  serious-minded 
enough,  and  so  on  ;  and  she  wouldn't  give  her  con- 
sent. Then  I  went  away  to  Elrnsbury,  and  there  I 
fell  in  with  a  good  deal  of  gay  society ;  and  — 
Well,  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  I  lost  my  hope, 
and  never  found  it  again  ;  and  sometimes  I  think  I 
never  shall,"  added  Mrs.  Gleason  sadly.  "Aunt 
Betsy  always  says  it  shows  she  was  right  about  me." 

"I  think  it  shows  she  was  wrong,"  said  Agnes. 

"  And  so  do  I.  I  have  got  to  answer  for  myself, 
of  course,  but  I  can't  help  blaming  her  for  part  of  it ; 
and  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  should  take  a  very 
different  course  with  you." 


THE  SNAA'ES.  137 

"  I  am  so  glad ! "  said  Agnes.  "  But,  ma,"  she 
added  timidly,  "  why  don't  you  come  forward  now  ? 
It  would  be  so  sweet  for  us  to  go  together.  We 
always  have  been  together  in  every  thing,  you  know, 
ever  since  I  was  a  little  girl." 

"Yes,  I  always  have  made  a  companion  of  you. 
Sometimes  I'm  afraid  I  put  too  much  on  you." 

"  No,  you  don't  either,"  said  Agnes,  with  some  in- 
dignation. "  There  isn't  a  girl  in  Oldham  has  better 
times  than  I  do,  only  for"  — 

"  Only  for  the  summer  boarders,"  said  Mrs.  Glea- 
son  as  Agnes  paused.  "  Well,  I  hope  we  shall  not 
have  to  take  them  again.  I  have  calculated  that  this 
season  will  pay  off  the  mortgage,  and  after  that  we 
shall  be  easy  enough." 

"  But  won't  you  think  about  it,  ma  ?  " 

"  Child,  I  have  thought  enough,  if  that  would  do 
any  good.  But,  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  my  heart 
seems  as  hard  as  the  nether  millstone,  or  like  the 
Bald  Rock  on  Indian  Hill,  where  neither  sun  nor 
rain  will  make  any  thing  grow." 

"  But  we  can  do  right,  whether  we  feel  right  or 
not,"  said  Agnes. 

"  There  is  something  in  that,"  replied  her  mother. 
"  But  we  must  not  talk  any  more  to-night.  Go  to 
bed,  dear,  and  I  will  come  as  soon  as  I  have  set  the 
bread.  —  Bless  the  child  !  I  only  wish  her  dear  father 
knew  it,"  added  Mrs.  Gleason  to  herself  as  she  went 
about  her  bread.  "  I  wish  that  Milly  Richmond 
wasn't  here  :  she  is  one  of  those  birds  of  the  air 
we  read  of  in  the  parable.  But  I  don't  think  my  girl 
is  a  wayside  hearer." 


138          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  I  shall  not  dare  to  step  out  of  doors  all  the  time 
I  am  here,"  was  Milly  Richmond's  comment  on  the 
snake  story. 

"You  will  get  rather  tired  of  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Gleason.  "I  have  known  several  'snake  summers' 
since  I  have  been  here,  but  I  have  seldom  known  of 
any  one's  being  hurt.  It  was  a  narrow  escape  for 
little  Eddy,  however,  and  for  Kit  herself.  I  can't 
think  how  the  child  should  know  just  what  to  do." 

"  She  asked  Sarah  if  she  didn't  think  it  was  the 
Lord  who  showed  her,"  said  Agnes,  "  and  Sarah  said 
she  didn't  doubt  it." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  Sarah  had  taken  up  the  pious 
dodge,"  remarked  Milly,  with  a  sneer.  "  Does  the 
new  teacher  go  in  for  that  kind  of  thing  ?  " 

"What  kind  of  thing?  "asked  Agnes.  Then,  as 
Milly  only  laughed,  she  added,  "  Miss  Armstrong  is 
a  Christian  woman,  if  that  is  what  you  mean ;  and 
we  like  her  the  better  for  it." 

"  Of  course  she  is.  Don't  you  know,  Milly,  we 
heard  all  about  her  from  Miss  Brown  ?  She  is  a  great 
friend  of  old  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  and  that  set,"  said  Mrs. 
Richmond,  who  would  have  given  one  of  her  fingers 
for  a  call  from  aunt  Barbara  at  her  fine  new  house. 
"  I  wonder  what  brought  her  up  here." 

"  Perhaps  she  came  on  a  mission  to  convert  the 
natives,"  said  Milly,  who  never  lost  an  opportunity 
of  showing  that  she  looked  down  on  the  people  where 
she  spent  her  summers.  "  Maybe  she  will  convert 
you,  Agnes." 

".Maybe  she  has,"  said  Agnes.  "So  much  the 
better  for  me." 


THE  SNAKES.  139 

"  Grandfather  Gleason  used  to  say  that  conversion 
is  not  the  work  of  man,  though  man  may  be  the 
honored  instrument,"  said  Mrs.  Gleason.  "  Agnes 
has  got  a  great  deal  of  good  from  Miss  Armstrong 
already,  and  I  hope  she  may  get  more.  It  is  a  pity 
you  would  not  try  going  to  school  to  her  yourself, 
Milly.  Perhaps  she  might  do  something,  even  for 
you." 

Milly  curled  her  lip  and  tossed  her  head  ;  but  she 
had  come  off  second  best  in  more  than  one  encounter 
with  her  hostess,  and  she  did  not  care  to  try  another. 
She  made  up  her  mind,  however,  that,  if  Agnes  had 
taken  up  any  such  notions,  she  would  soon  laugh 
her  out  of  them.  Mrs.  Gleason  had  rightly  called  her 
one  of  the  birds  of  the  air.  But  such  birds  have  no 
power  over  the  seed  sown  in  good  ground  ;  it  is  only 
that  which  falls  on  the  hard-trodden  wayside  which 
becomes  their  prey. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

TWO   TEA-PARTIES. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Weston  and  Miss  Armstrong  entered 
Mrs.  Bassett's  front  parlor,  they  found  the  rest  of  the 
company  assembled,  and  were  welcomed  by  their 
hostess  with  "  Why,  how  late  you  are  !  I  was  most 
thinking  you  were  not  coming.  I'm  afraid  you're 
growing  fashionable,  Abby." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  answered  Mrs.  Weston.  "  It  was  not 
fashion  that  kept  me,  but  flour.  Mr.  Bassett  was  so 
late  with  the  grist,  that  he  made  me  late  with  my 
Saturday's  baking  ;  and  I  didn't  like  to  leave  it  all  to 
Selina." 

"  Do  tell  !  "  said  Mrs.  Bassett.  "  Pa  has  been  very 
much  driven  with  work,  and  Mr.  Cook  being  sick 
puts  him  about.  But  where  is  Selina?  I  thought 
she  would  come  too." 

"  I  left  her  to  keep  house.  She  has  to  be  elder 
daughter,  now  Lizzy  is  gone." 

"  Well,  she  must  come  another  time.  — Do  take  off 

your  things,   Miss  Armstrong.     I'm  so  glad  to  see 

you !      I    believe    you    know   everybody   here    only 

Patience.     Where  is  she  ?     Oh,  here  she  comes.  — 

140 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  141 

Patience,  let  me  make  you  acquainted  with  Miss 
Armstrong." 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  knew  Miss  Fletcher  already  through 
the  children,"  said  Miss  Armstrong,  cordially  shak- 
ing hands  with  Patience.  "  I  hope  Ednah  is  none 
the  worse  for  her  adventure  this  morning.  Poor 
child,  she  had  a  terrible  fright." 

"Ohf  yes,  with  the  snake,"  said  Mrs.  Bassett. 
"  The  scare  was  enough  to  kill  her." 

"I  don't  think  she  was  as  much  frightened  as 
Faithie  was,"  answered  Patience.  "  She  says  her- 
self she  didn't  have  time.  But  it  is  dreadful  to 
think  what  would  have  happened -only  for  Kit,"  she 
added,  shuddering.  "I  little  thought,  when  I  was 
fretting  about  that  child's, coming  to  school  with  our 
young  ones,  what  she  was  to  do  for  them." 

"  Which  shows  what  I  am  always  telling  you, 
Patience,  —  that  there  is  no  use  in  fretting  and  bor- 
rowing trouble,"  remarked  Mrs.  Bassett. 

"  Kit  seems  a  well-disposed  child  in  every  way, 
I  think,"  said  Miss  Celia,  whose  knitting-needles 
were  pursuing  their  rapid,  even  rounds  in  the  corner. 
"  She  brought  home  my  tortoise-shell  kitten  when  it 
strayed  away.  I  can  hardly  think  she  belongs  to 
these  people." 

"She  don't,"  returned  Aunt  Betsy,  who  had  ful- 
filled Myra's  prediction  by  'dropping  in'  a  little 
before  tea-time.  "  If  she  was  a  Mallory,  we  should 
know  something  about  her,  at  any  rate.  They  took 
her  out  of  the  poorhouse.  I  don't  suppose  anybody 
even  knows  whether  she  had  a  grandfather." 

"It   seems   probable    that    she   had  one  of   some 


142          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

sort,"  said  Mrs.  Bassett.  "  Folks  don't  often  come 
into  the  world  like  mushrooms,  without  any  ances- 
tors at  all." 

"  She  must  have  come  of  a  good  family  somehow," 
said  Miss  Celia  with  mild  persistence. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  so  certain,"  remarked  Miss 
Armstrong.  "  I  have  had  a  good  deal  of  experience 
with  children  in  all  positions,  from  what  might  be 
called  the  top  of  the  social  ladder  to  the  bottom  ;  and 
I  have  found  all  sorts  of  dispositions  in  all  sorts  of 
places.  I  have  seen  most  beautiful  growths  of  good- 
ness and  self-sacrifice  in  the  midst  of  vice  and  igno- 
rance such  as  you  can  have  no  idea  of  unless  you 
have  seen  it,  and  I  have  seen  very  extraordinary 
tendencies  to  wickedness  among  children  who  had 
been  most  carefully  brought  up." 

"  Well,  you  won't  persuade  me  that  it  don't  make 
any  difference  whether  folks  are  respectable,  decent 
folks,  or  loafers,"  said  Aunt  Betsy.  "  Nobody  will 
ever  make  me  think  that." 

"Anybody  would  be  very  foolish  to  try,"  said 
Mrs.  Weston.  "All  Miss  Armstrong  says  is,  that 
good  and  bad  dispositions  do  not  depend  entirely 
upon  family,  or  even  upon  training." 

"Exactly  so,"  assented  Miss  Armstrong.  "Other 
things  being  equal,  well-trained  and  well-nurtured 
children  are  likely  to  be  better  than  those  who  are 
neither ;  but  there  are  exceptions  in  all  cases." 

"  To  read  some  books,  one  would  think  that  all 
people  need  is,  to  be  shown  the  right  way,  and  they 
jump  into  it  at  once,"  said  Miss  Delia.  "I  was 
reading  one  the  other  day,  in  which  a  young  girl  went 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  143 

to  stay  at  a  country  village  for  the  summer,  and  con- 
verted everybody  in  it.  Just  as  if  all  one  had  to  do 
was  to  catch  folks,  and  do  good  to  them ! " 

"  I  know  the  class  of  books  you  mean,  and  I  have 
a  special  objection  to  them,"  said  Miss  Armstrong. 
"Old-fashioned  people  complain  of  novels  because 
they  give  false  views  of  life,  and  I  find  fault  with 
these  books  for  the  same  reason.  Enthusiastic 
young  people  reading  them  are  apt,  as  you  say,  to 
think  that  all  one  has  to  do  to  reform  people  is  to  set 
the  good  before  them,  and  they  take  to  it  at  once ; 
whereas  the  fact  is,  that  sinners  in  general  are  not 
wicked  because  they  know  no  better,  but  because 
they  like  wickedness  the  best." 

"Just  so,"  assented  Mrs.  Weston.  "Look  at  the 
case  of  Harry  Burchard,  for  instance,"  alluding  to  a 
somewhat  famous  burglar.  "  That  fellow  had  a  good 
bringing-up,  and  learned  a  good  trade ;  and  the  same 
enterprise  and  ingenuity  which  made  him  such  a 
successful  burglar  would  have  made  him  an  equally 
successful  business-man." 

"  And  it  was  no  want  of  grandfathers  in  his  case," 
observed  Miss  Delia.  "  He  is  a  great-grandson  of 
old  Mr.  Wheeler,  who  used  to  preach  in  Oldbury  in 
Revolutionary  times.  I've  noticed  in  these  same 
books,  that,  in  all  the  church  work,  the  pastor  is  of 
no  account  whatever :  it  is  the  young  folks  that  do 
every  thing." 

"Talking  of  pastors,  is  it  true  that  Mr.  Brace  is 
coming  in  two  weeks  ?  " 

"  Quite  true,  I  am  glad  to  say,"  answered  Mrs. 
Weston.  "  And  that  reminds  me  of  something  I  want 


144          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

to  talk  about."  And  Mrs.  Weston  forthwith  plunged 
into  the  subject  of  the  church-cleaning.  All  present 
took  up  the  matter  with  enthusiasm  ^except  Aunt 
Betsy,  —  who  was  constitutionally  opposed  to  every 
thing,  —  and  Patience  Fletcher.  Aunt  Betsy  thought 
it  would  never  do  to  make  such  a  fuss  about  clean- 
ing up  the  church  :  it  would  be  as  much  as  saying 
right  out  that  it  was  dirty ;  that  would  hurt  Mr. 
Archimball's  feelings,  which  would  be  a  shame  after 
all  the  years  he  had  taken  care  of  the  church. 

"All  the  years  he  hasn't  taken  care  of  it,  you 
mean,"  said  Mrs.  Bassett.  "If  Archimball  had 
done  his  duty,  things  wouldn't  be  in  the  state  they 
are.  I  don't  think  we  are  bound  to  sit  in  the  dirt 
all  our  lives,  to  spare  his  feelings. — Well,  Patience, 
what  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  an  excellent  plan,"  answered  Patience, 
"and  I  only  wish  I  could  promise  to  help  about  it; 
but  I  don't  see  how  I  can,  I've  got  so  much  laid 
out  to  do  next  week." 

"Poor  thing!"  said  Mrs.  Bassett,  laughing.  "It 
is  a  pity,  Patience,  that  you  hadn't  a  baker's  dozen 
of  children,  so  you  could  get  a  little  leisure.  What 
is  it  that  presses  so  dreadfully  ?  Maybe  I  can  help 
you  a  little." 

"Well,  I  calculated  to  clean  the  spare  bedroom, 
for  one  thing;  and  there  are  the  curtains  to  wash 
and  do  up,  and  the  children's  clothes  to  see  to.  Eben 
and  Eddy  do  make  so  much  washing ! " 

"  Sakes  alive !  what  would  you  do  if  you  had  my 
two  big  boys,  besides  Mr.  Bassett  and  the  little  ones  ? 
Come,  Patience,  let  the  spare  room  rest  a  week.  I 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  145 

tell  you  it  isn't  good  for  any  one  to  work  all  the  time 
in  a  half-bushel.  That's  one  reason  why  I  am  in 
favor  of  missionary  work  :  it  gives  one  an  outlook, 
—  makes  a  window  into  the  world,  as  it  were.  —  Don't 
you  think  so,  Miss  Armstrong?  " 

"  I  certainly  do  ;  but  perhaps  I  am  an  interested 
party,"  answered  Miss  Armstrong,  smiling.  "  I  have 
been  busy  with  missionary  work  of  some  sort  ever 
since  I  was  eighteen,  and  even  before,  for  my  father 
and  mother  were  missionaries  before  me.  But  I 
think  with  you,  Mrs.  Bassett,  that  we  all  need  out- 
side windows  in  our  lives.  I  believe  many  an  over- 
worked housekeeper  would  find -her  life  lightened  if 
she  would  interest  herself  in  something  outside  her 
own  household." 

"  Yes,  it  is  easy  to  say  that,"  said  Patience  a  little 
peevishly.  "But  there  is  only  just  so  much  time, 
anyhow  ;  and,  if  it  is  full,  it  is  full." 

"  Very  true,"  replied  Miss  Armstrong.  "  In  that 
case  we  must  consider  whether  there  is  not  some- 
thing that  can  be  turned  out." 

"A  man  is  to  provide  first  for  his  own  household," 
said  Patience.  • 

"Very  true  again  ;  but  to  provide  what?  that  is 
the  real  question,  you  see.  Is  a  man  bound  to  spend 
so  much  time  heaping  dollar  upon  dollar  for  his  sons, 
that  he  has  no  time  to  know  what  sort  of  compan- 
ions they  have,  or  where  they  pass  their  evenings  ? 
Or  is  a  mother  obliged  to  spend  so  much  time  and 
labor  providing  Sunday  finery  for  her  little  daughter, 
that  she  has  no  time  to  teach  the  child  her  catechism, 
or  see  that  she  understands  her  Bible  lesson  ? " 


146          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"That  is  an  extreme  case,"  said  Patience. 

"  It  is  a  very  common  case,  I  am  sorry  to  say," 
answered  Miss  Armstrong.  "  I  know  more  than  one 
mother  of  moderate  means  who  thinks  she  has  no 
time  to  attend  to  her  daughter's  lessons,  because  she 
must  dress  the  child  as  finely  as  somebody  else  who 
has  five  times  her  income." 

"  I  don't  think  I  put  much  finery  on  our  children," 
said  Patience ;  "  but  I  do  like  to  have  them  look 
nicely, — as  their  mother  would  like  to  have  them 
look  if  she  could  see  them." 

"  I  think  you  do  keep  them  very  nicely,"  said  Miss 
Armstrong.  "  It  is  easy  to  see  that  Eddy  and  Eben 
are  not  neglected  for  the  sake  of  any  thing.  I  never 
saw  two  better-trained  or  pleasanter  children." 

Patience's  pale  cheek  flushed  with  pleasure.  These 
two  babies,  left  her  by  her  fair  young  stepmother, 
herself  a  dear  friend  and  playmate,  were  as  the 
apple  of  her  eye. 

"  Pa  and  Faithie  deserve  most  of  the  credit  of 
that,"  said  she  frankly.  "Perhaps  I  do  think  too 
much  about  my  housekeeping  a,nd  all  that.  You  see, 
I  was  left  in  charge  when  I  was  very. young,  and  I 
felt  such  a  responsibility.  Even  when  mother  Hes- 
ter came,  she  was  such  a  delicate  little  thing  I  felt  I 
ought  to  spare  her  all  I  could  ;  and  she  staid  with  us 
such  a  little  time.  —  only  a  year  and  a  half"  — 

"  It  was  a  dreadful  foolish  thing  of  your  father, 
marrying  that  child,  and  when  every  one  knew  her 
family  was  consumptive,"  said  Aunt  Betsy. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  returned  Patience.  "It  was 
one  of  the  best  things  that  ever  happened  in  our 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  147 

house.  Hester  was  like  a  sunbeam,  or  like  an  angel 
that  came  to  make  a  visit,  and  then  went  back  to 
heaven  again.  Eddy  is  just  like  her." 

"Yes,  I  expect  she'll  inherit  the  disease,"  rejoined 
Job's  comforter.  "  She  has  just  Hester's  clear  blue 
eyes  and  red  cheeks." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Mrs.  Bassett.  "  Eddy  is  as 
tough  as  a  little  knot.  That  is  another  notion  that 
does  no  end  of  harm,  —  I  mean,  thinking  a  girl  must 
needs  have  the  consumption  because  her  mother  had 
it.  My  grandfather  was  bitten  in  two  by  a  sperm 
whale,  but  I  don't  expect  that  is  going  to  happen 
to  me." 

"  Whales  don't  run  in  families,"  said  Aunt  Betsy 
with  dignity,  while  ail  the  rest  laughed:  "consump- 
tion does." 

"  Whales  have  run  in  my  family  for  a  good  many 
generations, — ever  since  Nantucket  folks  took  to 
catching  them,"  said  Mrs.  Bassett.  "  But,  as  to 
Ednah,  I  do  hope  nobody  will  put  such  an  idea  in 
the  child's  head.  I  do  believe  prophecies  of  that 
kind  sometimes  bring  their  own  fulfilment." 

"  I  think  you  are  right,  Mrs.  Bassett,"  said  Miss 
Armstrong.  "  I  have  known  of  at  least  one  case  in 
which  melancholy  insanity  was  brought  on,  appar- 
ently from  no  other  cause  than  the  one  you  men- 
tion." 

"Talking  of  insanity  brings  us  round  to  Kit 
again,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "  I  do  wish  something 
could  be  done  for  that  child.  I  spoke  to  Symantha 
about  her  coming  to  Sunday  school ;  and  she  said  she 
should  have  no  objection  herself,  but  there  was  no 


148          OLDHAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

use  in  talking  to  her  father :  he  would  never  allow 
it,  and  would  only  be  angry.  I  think  she  feared, 
though  she  did  not  say  so,  that  he  would  visit  his 
anger  on  the  child." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  added  Mrs.  Bassett.  "He  told  pa 
he  hated  the  very  name  of  God.  'That's  queer,' 
says  pa,  'to  hate  somebody  you  don't  believe  in.  I'd 
never  trouble  myself  to  hate  a  man  if  I  believed 
there  was  no  such  person,'  says  pa.  And  Phin  never 
said  another  word.  Well-,  we  must  just  bear  poor 
Kit  on  our  minds,  and  maybe  some  way  will  be 
opened.  She  seems  to  have  a  sense  of  religion,  too, 
from  all  I  hear.  Myra  says  she  asked  Sarah  Leet 
if  she  didn't  think  the  Lord  told  her  how  to  catch 
the  snake." 

"No  doubt  He  did,"  said  Miss  Delia;  "but  it  isn't 
every  one  that  would  have  minded  as  quick  as  she 
did.  Some  folks  would  have  said,  '  Oh,  dear  !  Lord, 
I  can't:  I'm  afraid.'" 

"Good-afternoon,  ladies.  Settling  all  the  affairs 
of  the  parish,  I  expect,"  said  Mr.  Bassett,  appearing 
at  the  parlor  door  in  his  dusty  miller's  coat,  his  hair 
and  face  white  with  flour.  Mrs.  Bassett  looked 
scandalized. 

"  Now,  pa,  what  do  you  mean  coming  in  like  that  ? 
Do  go  and  dress  yourself.  There's  your  clean  things 
all  laid  out  for  you,  and  you  come  in  all  over  flour. 
I  do  declare,  I  never  saw  such  a  man  !  Go  and  get 
dressed,  there's  a  dear,  for  I  expect  Myra  has  got 
tea  all  ready." 

Mr.  Bassett  indulged  in  a  jolly  laugh  as  he  with- 
drew, which  was  echoed  from  the  great  kitchen  where 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  149 

Myra  and  her  little  sisters  were  getting  tea.  Such 
laughs  were  common  in  the  Bassett  family.  The 
household  was  one  of  those  through  which  a  fresh, 
warm  gale  seems  always  blowing,  making  a  good 
deal  of  noise  and  stir,  hut  keeping  every  thing  bright 
and  sweet. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  such  a  man  ?"  said  Ma  Bassett, 
appealing  to  the  company  in  general,  with  wifely  and 
motherly  pride  shining  all  over  her  comely  face. 
"  And  he  makes  the  children  as  bad  as  he  is.  Such 
hands  to  laugh  I  never  saw." 

"  The  crackling  of  thorns  under  a  pot,  that's  what 
Scripture  calls  it,"  said  Aunt  Betsy,  who  always  re- 
sented a  laugh  as  though  it  must  needs  be  directed 
at  herself. 

"That  is  the  laughter  of  fools,"  returned  Miss 
Delia,  bristling  a  little  in  defence  of  her  host.  "  And 
I,  for  my  part,  would  rather  hear  thorns  crackling 
under  a  pot  than  the  east  wind  screeching  through 
a  keyhole." 

Aunt  Betsy  betook  herself  to  her  snuff-box,  her 
usual  refuge  when  worsted. 

"  Never  mind,  Delia ;  we  all  know  Aunt  Betsy's 
bark  is  worse  than  her  bite,"  said  Ma  Bassett. 
"  Ladies,  will  you  walk  out  to  supper  ? " 

At  the  tea-table  the  subject  of  the  church-clean- 
ing was  renewed.  Mr.  Bassett  approved  heartily. 

"  Such  a  piece  of  work  ought  to  be  easy  here,"  re- 
marked Miss  Armstrong  :  "you  all  seem  so  united." 

"  Yes,  we  are  very  fortunate  in  that,"  answered 
Mr.  Bassett.  "There  has  never  been  any  church 
here  but  ours.  There  is  a  small  Methodist  society 


150          OLDffAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

over  at  the  cross-roads ;  very  nice  folks  they  are 
too,  I  must  say." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  can  say  that,"  interrupted 
Aunt  Betsy.  "Joe  Hilton  belonged  to  them,  and  he 
got  drunk  at  the  county  fair,  and  gambled  away  his 
cow." 

"There  are  black  sheep  in  every  flock,"  said  Miss 
Delia." 

"And  they  took  him  back  again,  and  he  belongs 
there  now,"  continued  Aunt  Betsy  triumphantly,  as 
though  she  considered  the  niceness  of  the  Methodist 
folks  forever  disproved. 

"  Yes,  they  restored  him  in  the  spirit  of  meekness," 
said  Mr.  Bassett.  "  Poor  Joe  was  a  very  hard  case 
for  many  years  before  he  joined  the  Methodists  ;  and 
it  was  no  wonder,  perhaps,  that  the  old  temptation 
overcame  him.  He  has  worked  forme  all  the  spring, 
and  I  don't  want  a  better  man." 

"Mr.  Martin  said  the  Methodist  society  was  the 
natural  refuge  of  the  lower  classes,"  observed  Myra. 

"  Yes,  I  know  he  did  ;  and  that  foolish  remark  re- 
peated did  more  harm  than  he  would  ever  do  good. 
What  business  had  he  talking  about  upper  and  lower 
classes?  His  father  was  a  foundryman,  and  his 
mother  kept  a  little  candy-shop  to  help  them  along." 

"That  was  no  disgrace  to  them,"  observed  Miss 
Delia. 

"  Not  a  bit.  It  was  an  item  to  their  credit,  and 
ought  to  have  kept  him  from  talking  such  nonsense." 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  was  he  ?  "  asked  Miss  Arm- 
strong. 

"  Well,  he  was  a  man  of  a  good  deal  of  talent  and 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  151 

reading ;  but  he  did  not  get  on,  somehow,"  replied 
Mr.  Bassett.  "  I  don't  know  as  I  could  tell  what  the 
matter  was  "  — 

"The  matter  was,  that  he  was  always  feeling 
abused,  and  complaining,  because,  as  he  said,  he  had 
no  congenial  spirits  to  associate  with,"  struck  in 
Miss  Delia.  "  He  had  a  great  notion  of  himself  and 
his  own  consequence,  and  thought  himself  buried  in 
a  country  parish  ;  and  you  see  no  church  likes  to  be 
looked  upon  in  the  light  of  a  tomb,"  added  the  little 
lady,  laughing.  "  I  hope  Mr.  Brace  is  not  like  that." 

"  He  is  not,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  He  is  not  a 
man  to  think  himself  buried  anywhere,  so  long  as  he 
has  work  to  do  for  his  Master." 

"  Then  you  know  him  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  know  him,"  answered  Miss  Arm- 
strong: "we  used  to  work  together  in  New  York 
years  ago.  I  think  you  will  all  like  him  very  much. 
He  is  very  strong  upon  the  proprieties  of  public 
worship,"  she  added.  "  I  could  not  help  thinking 
of  him  last  Sunday  when  I  happened  to  notice  that 
great  cobweb  in  the  corner  over  the  organ." 

"  And  that  brings  us  to  the  church-cleaning  again," 
said  Ma  Bassett,  whose  womanly  eye  saw  that  Miss 
Armstrong  was  a  little  bit  agitated.  The  subject 
was  discussed  in  all  its  length  and  breadth  ;  and,  be- 
fore the  party  broke  up,  it  was  quite  settled  that  the 
two  church-wardens  should  take  the  first  step  toward 
calling  a  parish  meeting. 

When  the  friends  separated,  Mrs.  Weston  and 
Miss  Delia  were  deep  in  some  occult  mystery  con- 
cerning the  coloring  of  carpet-rags,  an  art  for  which 


152          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS, 

the  little  lady  was  renowned ;  and  Miss  Armstrong 
and  Patience  Fletcher  walked  on  together. 

"  How  easy  Mrs.  Bassett  does  take  every  thing  !  " 
said  Patience.  "I  wish  I  was  like  her." 

"Is  she  always  so?"  asked  Miss  Armstrong. 

"Just  the  same,  whatever  happens.  Even  when 
her  children  were  little,  and  they  were  not  as  well 
off  as  they  are  now,  she  never  fretted.  She  always 
would  take  time  to  rest  and  read.  I  staid  there  once 
for  three  weeks  when  father  had  small-pox.  Every 
day  after  dinner,  when  she  had  washed  up  the  dishes 
and  got  the  baby  to  sleep,  she  used  to  take  her  Bible 
or  some  other  book,  and  lie  down  for  half  or  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour.  Sometimes  she  would  read, 
and  sometimes  she  would  take  a  little  nap ;  but  she 
always  got  up  as  fresh  as  a  daisy/' 

"  I  suspect  that  is  one  secret  of  her  cheerfulness," 
said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  She  takes  time  to  rest,  and 
to  feed  her  spirit." 

"Well,  I  wonder  if  that  is  what  ails  me,"  said 
Patience. 

"Does  any  thing  ail  you?"  asked  Miss  Arm- 
strong. "I  thought  you  were  a  happy  woman." 

"Well,  I  am  not,"  answered  Patience.  "I  don't 
know  what  the  matter  is,  either.  It  is  all  right 
enough  outside,  if  I  did  not  have  quite  so  much  to 
do ;  but,  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  I  don't  have  any 
peace  or  joy  in  religion.  I  pray,  of  course,  and  go 
to  communion  ;  but  I  don't  have  any  comfort  in  it. 
My  prayers  never  seem  to  get  outside  of  the  room." 

"Since  the  Hearer  of  prayer  is  undoubtedly  in 
the  room,  there  is,  perhaps,  no  need  of  their  getting 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES,  153 

out,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  I  understand  the  feel- 
ing, however,  and  it  is  a  very  sad  one.  But,  Miss 
Fletcher  "  — 

"Call  me*Patience,  please.     Everybody  does." 

"  So  I  will,  for  it  is  a  favorite  name  of  mine.  Are 
you  sure,  Patience,  dear,  that  you  are  not  starving 
your  soul  all  this  time  ?  It  must  have  nourishment, 
you  know,  as  well  as  the  body.  Excuse  the  freedom 
of  the  question,  but  do  you  take  time  enough  for 
your  devotions  ? " 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  do,"  answered  Patience.  "  I 
am  so  hurried  in  the  morning,  and  at  night  I  am  so 
tired." 

"  But  during  the  day,  while  the  children  are  at 
school "  — 

"Yes,  I  know;  but  there  always  seems  some  sew- 
ing or  cleaning  to  do,  that  takes  up  the  time." 

"Are  you  sure  that  all  that  sewing  and  cleaning 
are  necessary  ?  Or,  if  it  is,  why  not  leave  some  of 
it  for  Faith  when  she  comes  home  ?  She  ought  to 
help  you  a  good  deal." 

"  Well,  she  does  ;  and  she  would  like  to  help  me  a 
great  deal  more.  She  isn't  a  bit  of  a  shirk,  Faith 
isn't.  But  —  Well,  the  fact  is,  Miss  Armstrong,  I 
have  my  own  ways  and  plans ;  and,  if  things  are  not 
done  just  exactly  so,  it  puts  me  out,  and  makes  me 
uncomfortable." 

"  Isn't  it  possible  that  you  are  making  idols  of 
your  own  ways  and  plans  ?  "  asked  Miss  Armstrong 
gently. 

"  Idols  ?  "  repeated  Patience,  as  if  a  little  offended. 
"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 


154          OLDHAMj    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"An  idol  is  any  thing  which  comes  between  us 
and  God,"  said  Miss  Armstrong;  "whatever  we  set 
up  in  His  place  is  an  idol.  Your  ways  and  plans 
may  be  ever  so  good  ;  but,  if  you  allow  them  to  take 
all  your  time  and  thoughts  "  —  Miss  Armstrong 
paused,  and  added,  "The  cares  of  this  world,  you 
know,  can  choke  the  Word  as  well  as  the  deceitful- 
ness  of  riches." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Patience ;  "  but  if  He  sends 
the  cares  ? " 

"  The  cares  He  sends  don't  often  have  that  effect. 
It  comes  from  the  cares  we  make  for  ourselves.  Let 
me  tell  you  a  little  story  to  illustrate  my  meaning. 
I  once  attended  a  missionary  meeting  in  a  certain 
city,  and  staid  with  a  very  kind  lady  with  whom  I 
was  slightly  acquainted.  The  first  meeting  was  in 

the  afternoon,  and  I  asked  Mrs.  M if  she  did  not 

mean  to  go.  She  said  it  was  impossible :  she  had 
been  busy  all  the  morning,  and  expected  to  be  busy 
all  the  afternoon.  I  brought  back  with  me  another 
lady,  who  had  been  assigned  to  the  same  quarters. 
When  we  sat  down  to  tea,  we  had  four  kinds  of  cake 
and  two  kinds  of  biscuit,  besides  a  strawberry  short- 
cake and  some  hot  dish  or  other.  We  could  not 
have  eaten  the  four  kinds  of  cake  and  the  strawberry 
short-cake  without  risk  to  our  lives ;  yet  she  must 
make  them,  though  she  lost  the  whole  day's  meeting. 
Now,  were  that  lady's  cares  of  the  Lord's  sending  ? " 

"  I  suppose  not,"  said  Patience,  laughing,  as  it 
seemed  in  spite  of  herself.  "  I  don't  think  I  am  so 
bad  as  that,  and  yet  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  I  am. 
But,  Miss  Armstrong,  I  talked  to  Mr.  Martin  when 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  155 

he  was  here,  and  told  him  how  I  felt,  and  how  little 
interest  I  had  in  religion  ;  and  he  said  it  was  the  state 
of  my  health,  —  that  people  always  felt  so  when  they 
were  not  well,  and  that  he  was  the  same  way  him- 
self." 

"  I  think  that  excuse  is  used  far  too  often,"  replied 
Miss  Armstrong.  "  It  seems  your  health  does  not 
hinder  your  taking  such  an  interest  in  your  house- 
hold matters  that  you  can  allow  no  one  to  help 
you  ;  and,  if  so,  why  should  it  prevent  you  from  being 
interested  in  your  devotion  ?  " 

"There  is  something  in  that,"  observed  Patience. 
"  Mr.  Martin  himself  was  in  a  terrrble  taking  because 
my  Leghorn  chickens  were  heavier  than  his.  Be- 
sides that,  it  seems  as  if  our  religion  can't  be  worth 
much  if  it  is  going  to  fail  us  when  we  want  it  the  very 
most.  Well,  Miss  Armstrong,  I  should  not  wonder  if 
you  were  right.  Anyhow,  I  will  think  it  over." 

"  And  pray  over  it,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "And, 
dear  Patience,  remember  that  He  who  said,  'Seek  first 
the  kingdom  of  God  and  His  righteousness/  was  one 
who  knew  every  one  of  our  burdens  and  hinderances 
as  well  as  ourselves,  or  better." 

"  If  one  could  always  remember  that,"  said  Pa- 
tience rather  sadly.  "  Well,  good-night,  Miss  Arm- 
strong. I  am  ever  so  much  obliged  to  you."  And 
Patience  went  home  so  full  of  thought  that  she 
actually  failed  to  remark  that  Faith  had  hung  up 
the  dish-towels  endways  instead  of  lengthways,  and 
had  set  up  the  teacups  in  twos  instead  of  threes. 

Another  tea-party  had  been  held  that  afternoon, 
quite  as  pleasant,  though  smaller  and  more  informal. 


156          OLD  PI  AM-,    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS 

"Kit,"  said  Symantha  after  dinner,  "don't  you 
want  to  go  up  and  play  on  the  mountain  this  after- 
noon ?  I'm  going  to  clean  up  the  kitchen,  and  I 
want  it  all  to  myself." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  should  like  it !  "  answered  Kit ; 
"but  I  thought  perhaps  you  would  want  me  to  sit 
with  aunt  Martha." 

"  No  ;  she  had  a  bad  time  this  morning,  and  she 
will  be  sure  to  sleep  all  the  afternoon.  I'll  give  you 
some  gingerbread  and  a  bottle  of  milk,  so  you  can 
have  a  picnic  and  a  nice  time  reading.  Wait  a 
minute  :  I've  got  something  else  for  you."  She  left 
the  room,  and  presently  returned  with  a  book  bound 
in  colored  calf,  old  but  still  in  good  preservation. 
"That  was  my  grandmother's  book,"  said  she  as  she 
put  it  into  Kit's  hands.  "  I  found  it  this  morning 
on  the  top  shelf  of  a  cupboard  in  the  back  room. 
Take  good  care  of  it." 

Kit  opened  the  volume,  which  proved  to  be  a  copy 
of  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress"  and  "The  Holy  War" 
bound  together. 

"Oh,  how  glad  I  am!"  she  exclaimed.  "Now  I 
can  read  it  all.  Thank  you,  Symantha." 

"  I  was  looking  for  a  Bible  for  you ;  and  perhaps 
I  shall  find  one  yet,  somewhere,"  said  Symantha. 
"  There  ought  to  be  one  about  the  house,  I  should 
think." 

"  I  have  got  a  Testament,"  said  Kit  timidly. 

"  Have  you  ?     Where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 

Kit  told  the  story.  Symantha  listened  with  her 
face  turned  away. 

"Don't  let  pa  or  Melissa  see  it  or  know  any  thing 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  157 

about  it,"  was  her  comment.  "  Keep  it  hid  away. 
After  all,  I  don't  see  why  he  should  care,"  she  added, 
speaking  more  to  herself  than  to  Kit  "  If  it  is  all  a 
dream,  at  least  it  is  one  that  gives  people  comfort ; 
and  there  is  not  too  much  of  that  in  the  world." 

"But  it  isn't  all  a  dream,  I  am  sure  it  isn't,"  said 
Kit  with  tearful  earnestness.  "  I  don't  know  as  I 
could  tell  you  why,  —  I  am  only  a  little  girl,  —  but  I 
am  just  as  sure  it  is  true  as  that  I  am  alive." 

"  Well,  child,  think  so  if  it  does  you  any  good.  I 
wish  I  did,  though  I  am  badly  off  if  it  is,"  Symantha 
added  with  a  bitter  smile.  "  But  there,  run  along, 
and  have  a  nice  time.  Pa  and  Melissa  have  gone  to 
Oldbury,  and  won't  be  at  home  till  night;  so  you  can 
stay  as  long  as  you  like." 

Kit  kissed  Symantha,  and  betook  herself  to  her 
favorite  place  on  the  hill.  As  she  came  round  the 
end  of  the  ledge,  she  saw  two  figures  ascending  from 
the  other  side,  carrying  a  basket  between  them  ;  and 
her  heart  beat  with  pleasure  as  she  recognized  the 
two  young  ladies  from  the  stone  house. 

"Oh,  I  do  hope  .they  are  coming  here!"  she  said 
to  herself.  She  was  not  mistaken. 

"Here  is  our  little  hostess,"  said  Ida.  "I  hoped 
we  should  find  her.  Kitty,  my  dear,  will  you  lend 
us  the  use  of  your  summer  parlor  this  afternoon,  and 
join  us  in  a  picnic  ?  You  see  we  have  brought  our 
basket." 

Kit  never- knew  exactly  how  she  answered;  but 
certain  it  is,  neither  of  her  guests  found  any  fault 
with  their  welcome. 

"  Now,  where  shall  we  put  our  provisions,  to  keep 


158          OLD  HAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

them  fresh  and  cool  till  we  want  them  ? "  asked 
Amity.  For  answer  Kit  moved  away  a  thin  slab  of 
stone,  and  showed  a  deep,  shady  cavity,  which  seemed 
to  be  of  some  size. 

"  I  call  that  my  spring-house,"  said  she.  "There 
really  is  a  spring  in  there.  If  you  listen  you  will 
hear  it." 

Both  the  girls  bent  down,  and  distinctly  heard  the 
silvery  plash  of  water-drops  in  the  little  cave. 

"  How  very  pretty  !  "  said  Amity.  "  If  we  lighted 
a  match  we  might  see  the  whole  of  it." 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  want  to,"  replied  Kit  a  little 
shyly.  "  I  like  to  think  it  is  a  great,  deep  cave  with 
jewels  and  all  kinds  of  beautiful  things,  and  a  lovely 
lady  like  the  one  in  my  old  fairy -book." 

"  Exactly,"  said  Ida.  "  I  understand.  You  and  I 
like  to  imagine,  while  Amity  wants  to  go  to  the 
bottom  of  every  thing  with  a  match  and  a  candle. 
However,  we  won't  disturb  your  romance,  Kitty.  And 
now  what  shall  we  do  to  amuse  ourselves  ?  What 
book  have  you  there  ? " 

Kit  displayed  her  treasure. 

"  What  a  nice  old  copy  !  "  said  Amity.  "  See,  Ida, 
what  a  beautiful  titlepage,  with  the  warriors  of  '  The 
Holy  War'  winding  down  one  side,  and  Christian 
and  Hopeful  toiling  up  the  other.  Suppose  we  take 
turns  in  reading  aloud,  Ida  :  I  dare  say  Kitty  will 
like  to  hear  some  of  her  book.  And  then  you  shall 
give  us  some  music.  —  You  will  like  that,  won't  you, 
Kitty  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am  !"  answered  Kit  with  sparkling 
eyes ;  "  but  perhaps  you  and  Miss  Van  Zandt  would 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  159 

rather  read  your  own  books,"  she  added  with  instinc- 
tive politeness,  glancing  at  the  volumes  the  girls  had 
taken  from  their  basket. 

"No,  indeed!"  answered  Ida.  "The  'Pilgrim's 
Progress '  is  just  the  book  for  such  a  place  and  such 
an  afternoon." 

"  Well,  don't  let  us  waste  all  our  timd  getting 
ready,"  said  practical  Amity,  producing  her  knitting, 
which  her  friends  were  wont  to  consider  as  much  a 
part  of  herself  as  her  fingers.  "  Begin  at  the  begin- 
ning, Ida." 

" '  As  I  walked  through  the  wilderness  of  this  world, 
I.  lighted  on  a  certain  place  where  was  a  den  ;  and  I 
laid  me  down  in  that  place  to  sleep.' " 

How  many  children  during  the  last  two  hundred 
years  have  had  their  attention  arrested,  and  their 
imaginations  charmed,  by  these  words !  I  know  of  no 
book  which  gains  more  by  being  well  read  aloud  than 
the  "Pilgrim's  Progress;"  and  Ida  read  aloud  uncom- 
monly well,  having  been  thoroughly  trained  in  that 
most  desirable  accomplishment  by  her  mother  and 
aunt  Barbara.  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  she  was 
that  fearsome  creature,  an  elocutionist.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  read  like  a  lady,  in  a  clear,  soft  voice,  with 
due  emphasis,  and  attention  to  stops.  Kit  sat  with 
folded  hands,  and  listened  as  in  a  happy  dream.  The 
weather  was  perfect,  sunny  but  not  too  bright,  with 
fleecy  clouds  passing  over  the  blue  sky,  — 

"  Shepherded  by  the  soft,  unwilling  wind,"  — 

which  did  not  reach  the  sheltered  hillside.  She  felt 
a  pleasure  in  the  pretty  calico  dresses  and  well-suited 


160          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

colors,  the  glossy  hair  and  becoming  hats,  of  the  young 
ladies,  in  their  well-trained  voices  and  manners,  and 
above  all  in  the  wonderful  story.  She  did  not,  of 
course,  understand  it  fully,  —  it  is  a  book  wherein  the 
most  experienced  Christian  may  find  much  to  ponder, 
—  but  she  had  a  general  idea  of  the  meaning;  while 
to  her  Christian  and  his  wife,  Obstinate  and  Pliable, 
Mr.  Worldly  Wiseman  and  the  keeper  of  the  wicket 
gate,  were  as  real  as  uncle  Phin  and  Mr.  Bassett  and  all 
the  other  people  she  saw  every  day.  Kit  often  looked 
back  on  that  day  as  one  of  the  happiest  of  her  life. 

"  Now  we  will  have  some  music,"  said  Amity  after 
they  had  got  Christian  safely  to  the  House  Beautiful. 
"What  will  you  sing,  Ida?" 

"  What  would  Kitty  like  to  hear  ? "  asked  Ida. 

"Please,  would  you  sing  the  hymn  they  sang  in 
the  schoolhouse  the  other  night  ? "  asked  Kit  with 
bashful  eagerness.  "The  first  one,  I  mean." 

Ida  complied,  and  sang  that  most  beautiful  of  hymns 
all  through  ;  Kit  listening  meanwhile  as  if  her  life 
depended  on  not  losing  a  note. 

"  That  is  lovely ! "  she  said,  more  to  herself  than 
to  Ida,  when  the  hymn  was  finished.  "  I  think  I 
could  sing  it  now  if  I  knew  the  words." 

"  Can  you  sing  ? "  asked  Amity. 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  could  always  sing  every  thing  I 
heard ;  but  I  never  had  a  chance  to  learn  many 
hymns.  I  can  sing  '  Swing  low,  sweet  chariot/ 
through." 

"  Sing  it,"  said  Amity ;  and  Kit  complied.  Her 
voice,  of  course,  was  quite  uncultivated. 

"  You  ought  to  take  singing-lessons,"  remarked 
Ida.  "  I  suppose  you  never  had  any." 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  l6l 

"  No,  ma'am.  I  never  had  lessons  in  any  thing  till 
I  came  here,  only  Symantha  taught  me  to  read  and 
write,  and  to  sew ;  and  sometimes  I  would  go  to 
school  a  few  weeks  at  a  time,  but  not  very  often." 

"You  don't  remember  any  thing  about  your 
mother?" 

"  No,  ma'am,  not  really.  Sometimes  when  aunt 
Martha  is  pretty  quiet,  and  especially  when  I  look 
at  her  asleep,  she  makes  me  think  about  my  mother; 
but  I  can't  tell  why.  Melissa  says  my  mother  died 
in  the  poorhouse  ;  but  she  is  such  a  liar  I  never  be- 
lieve any  thing  she  says,"  concluded  Kit  in  a  matter- 
of-fact  tone  which  scandalized  Amity. 

"  Hush,  hush  !  "  said  she.  "  Little  girls  should  not 
call  people  liars." 

"Not  when  they  tell  lies?"  asked  Kit.  "Melissa 
does  ;  you  cant  believe  a  word  she  says  about  any 
thing." 

Ida  bent  down  to  hide  a  smile,  and  Amity  found  it 
convenient  to  change  the  subject. 

"  Does  not  Symantha  tell  you  any  thing  about 
your  mother  ? " 

"  No,  ma'am.  I  asked  her  once  or  twice,  but  she 
did  not  answer ;  and  I  saw  she  did  not  like  it,  so  I 
didn't  say  any  more.  Symantha  has  so  much  trouble, 
and  she  is  so  good  to  me,  I  don't  like  to  do  any  thing 
to  bother  her." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Amity.  "  But  you  say  you 
do  not  think  you  lived  in  the  poorhouse.  Why?  " 

Kit  knitted  her  brows,  and  her  eyes  assumed  the 
far-off  look  they  always  took  when  she  tried  to  recall 
her  faint  recollections  of  her  former  home. 


1 62          OLD II AM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  Because  of  things  I  can  recollect,"  said  she.  "  I 
remember  sitting  on  the  floor,  and  tracing  out  the 
pattern  of  the  carpet  with  my  finger.  When  I  saw 
Mrs.  Blandy's  carpet  hung  out,  I  thought  of  it.  And 
I  remember  a  gray  bird  in  a  round  cage,  and  —  I 
know  that  can't  be  true  though  —  it  seems  just  as 
if  it  could  talk." 

"I  dare  say  it  did,"  said  Ida.  "Probably  the  bird 
was  a  gray  parrot.  But  don't  you  recollect  any  lady 
that  took  care  of  you,  and  that  you  called  mamma 
or  mother?" 

"  No,  not  really,"  said  Kit.  "  Whenever  I  try, 
it  seems  for  a  minute  as  if  I  did ;  and  then  she  gets 
all  mixed  up  with  aunt  Martha.  Only  there  is  one 
thing  I  have  thought  of  since  you  said  that  name 
Kathleen,"  added  Kit  eagerly.  "  I  know  that  is  my 
name  ;  and  somebody,  I  don't  know  who,  used  to  sing 
a  song  about  Kathleen,  —  '  Kathleen  My  — '  some- 
thing. I  think  I  should  know  the  tune  if  I  heard  it : 
I  always  do  remember  tunes." 

"Was  this  it?"  asked  Ida,  and  she  sang  a  verse 
of  the  beautiful  Irish  song, — 

"  Kathleen  Mavourneen,  the  gray  dawn  is  breaking." 

She  had  not  finished  the  verse  when  Kit  broke  in, 
her  eyes  and  cheeks  blazing  with  excitement,  — 

"  That  is  it,  that  is  it !  I  have  dreamed  it  some- 
times, but  I  never  could  remember  it  when  I  was 
awake.  Oh,  I  know  it  was  my  mother  that  sang 
that !  "  and  she  burst  into  such  a  passionate  fit  of  cry- 
ing and  sobbing,  that  the  girls  were  alarmed. 

"  Hush,  my  dear.     Don't  cry  so  ;  you  will  be  sick," 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  163 

said  Amity,  putting  her  arm  round  the  child.  "There, 
try  to  quiet  yourself." 

Kit  made  a  violent  effort,  and  succeeded  in  regain- 
ing some  degree  of  composure.  "  I  can't  think  what 
makes  me  cry  so  easy,"  she  said  as  she  wiped  her  eyes. 
"  I  cried  about  the  snake  this  morning.  I  think  it 
must  be  because  my  hand  keeps  me  awake  nights." 

"  Perhaps  so.     Is  your  hand  so  bad  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  it  is  very  sore." 

"  What  was  it  about  the  snake  ?  "  asked  Ida,  look- 
ing nervously  about  her.  She  was  dreadfully  afraid 
of  snakes,  and  was  always  suspecting  them  in  every 
possible  locality. 

"  Oh,  there  are  none  here,"  said  Kit,  seeing  Ida's 
movement.  "  I  never  saw  a  snake  on  this  hill.  It 
was  down  at  the  schoolhouse.  I  think  it  did  scare 
me,  for  I  have  felt  shaky  ever  since." 

"  But  what  was  it  ?  "  persisted  Ida.  Kit  told  the 
story  in  as  few  words  as  possible. 

"  You  dear,  brave  little  thing !  "  exclaimed  Ida. 
"  How  could  you  do  it  ?  It  makes  me  shudder  to 
think  of  it." 

"  Well,  it  wasn't  nice"  said  Kit  emphatically : 
"  it  felt  so  cold  and  horrid  !  I  felt  as  if  I  wanted  to 
wash  my  hands  a  dozen  times  over." 

"  I  don't  wonder.  But  don't  let  us  talk  about  it 
any  more  now,"  said  Amity.  "  I  think  we  had  better 
have  our  tea.  I  don't  know  how  you  two  feel,  but  I 
am  hungry." 

V I  have  got  some  gingerbread  and  milk,  if  you 
like  it,"  said  Kit  modestly.  "  Symantha  makes  real 
nice  gingerbread." 


164          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  That  will  be  a  fine  addition  to  our  feast.  Come, 
Ida,  let  us  set  the  table ;  and  Kit  shall  be  the  com- 
pany, and  look  on." 

Never  was  any  thing  so  pretty,  Kit  thought,  as  the 
little  china  plates  and  cups  produced  from  the  basket ; 
never  any  thing  so  wonderful  as  the  spirit-lamp  over 
which  Amity  heated  up  the  tea,  or  so  nice  as  the 
sandwiches  and  sponge-cake.  When  all  was  ready, 
Ida  made  a  sign  to  Amity,  who  bent  her  head  and 
said  a  simple  grace.  Kit  looked  on  with  awe.  It 
was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of  such 
a  thing.  The  girls  ate  their  supper  with  abundance 
of  jokes  and  laughter.  Kit  had  not  much  appetite, 
but  she  enjoyed  the  delicate  sandwich,  and  the  fra- 
grant cup  of  tea  which  helped  the  headache  she  had 
carried  all  day. 

"  Well,  we  have  had  a  very  nice  time,"  said  Amity 
after  she  had  repacked  the  basket.  "  Now,  Kitty, 
what  can  we  do  for  you  ? " 

"  You  have  done  too  much  for  me  now,"  replied 
Kit.  "  I  never  had  such  a  nice  time  in  my  life. 
Only  "  — 

"  Only  what  ?  "  asked  Ida. 

"  I  wish  I  had  the  words  of  that  hymn,"  said  Kit, 
blushing.  "I  think  I  could  sing  it  sometimes  if  I 
knew  the  words.  And  that  about  the  shadow  of  the 
wing  is  so  nice :  it  makes  me  think  of  the  little 
chickens  running  under  the  old  hen  when  it  rains,  or 
they  are  scared." 

"  That  is  what  it  means,"  said  Ida.  "  Let  me  tell 
you  a  verse  in  the  Bible  about  that :  '  He  shall  cover 
thee  with  his'  feathers,  and  under  his  wings  shalt 


TWO    TEA-PARTIES.  1 65 

thou  trust '  (Ps.  xci.  4).  You  shall  have  the  hymn, 
Kathleen.  I  will  send  you  a  little  book  which  has  it 
and  a  good  many  more.  I  will  give  it  to  Miss  Arm- 
strong to-morrow.  Good-night,  my  dear.  I  hope  we 
shall  have  another  nice  picnic  some  time." 

When  Amity  and  Ida  reached  home,  they  told 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt  what  Kit  had  said,  and  how  she  re- 
membered the  song. 

"  I  do  believe  she  is  Kathleen  Joyce's  child,"  said 
aunt  Barbara.  "  But  how  should  she  come  into  these 
people's  hands,  and  why  should  they  wish  to  keep 
her  away  from  every  one  ?  " 

"  I  was  struck  with  one  thing  she  said,"  remarked 
Ida,  —  "  that,  when  she  thought  of  her  mother,  she 
always  got  her  mixed  up  with  aunt  Martha.  Do  you 
suppose  it  possible  that  she  can  be  Mrs.  Mallory's 
child  ? " 

"  It  does  not  seem  likely,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Zandt. 
"  Why  should  they  wish  to  conceal  it  ?  " 

"  There  might  be  some  money  in  the  case,"  said 
Ida. 

"  It  is  possible.  I  heard  that  Kathleen's  husband 
became  quite  wealthy  at  one  time,  from  some  fortu- 
nate speculation." 

"  Did  she  never  write  to  you  after  her  marriage  ?  " 
asked  Amity. 

"  Never,"  answered  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  sadly. 

"  Perhaps  her  husband  would  not  allow  it." 

"  I  think  that  very  likely ;  he  never  forgave  my 
opposition  to  the  match.  And  some  notion  of  loyalty 
to  his  memory  might  have  kept  her  from  writing 
afterward." 


1 66          OLD I) 'AM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  It  seems  loyalty  to  his  memory  did  not  prevent 
her  marrying  again,"  said  Amity. 

"  That  is  different,  as  the  children  say,"  replied 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt ;  "  and,  besides,  we  do  not  know  that 
it  is  the  same  person." 

"  Some  people  would  consider  poor  Kathleen's 
conduct  as  an  argument  against  the  adoption  of  chil- 
dren," said  Amity. 

Mrs.  Van  Zandt  smiled  rather  sadly. 

"  I  have  heard  of  other  than  adopted  daughters 
making  runaway  matches,"  said  she.  "  Moreover, 
on  looking  back,  I  can  see  where  I  was  myself  to 
blame  in  Kathleen's  case.  I  indulged  and  petted  her 
beyond  all  reason.  I  allowed  her  to  please  herself 
in  all  things,  and  never  taught  her  to  exercise  self- 
denial  or  self-control.  Spoiled  children  are  not  often 
grateful  to  their  spoilers ;  and,  indeed,  I  do  not  know 
why  they  should  be.  Well,  my  dears,  we  must  keep 
our  eyes  on  this  poor  little  girl,  and  try  to  befriend 
her.  Whoever  she  may  be,  she  is  one  of  the  Lord's 
little  ones.  Perhaps  the  truth  may  come  out  some 
time.  I  am  glad  that  you  have  given  her  at  least 
one  pleasant  afternoon." 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE    BIRDS    OF   THE    AIR. 

KIT  had  hardly  reached  home  when  she  saw  her 
uncle  drive  into  the  yard,  and  presently  he  entered 
the  kitchen  with  Melissa.  Phin's  brow  was  dark, 
and  he  had  an  uneasy  expression,  as  though  (so 
Kit  said  to  herself)  he  had  been  doing  something 
he  was  ashamed  of.  Melissa,  on  the  contrary,  was 
in  excellent  spirits,  and  wore  a  decided  expression 
of  triumph.  There  was  something  in  the  way  she 
looked  at  Kit  which  made  the  child  feel  uncomfort- 
able, she  did  not  know  why.  Phin  hardly  spoke, 
except  to  inquire  for  his  wife,  till  after  supper.  Then 
he  turned  to  Kit,  and  asked,  not  unkindly,  — 

"  Well,  Kit,  how  is  your  hand  ? " 

"  It  is  very  sore,"  said  Kit :  "  I  can't  use  it  a  bit, 
and  it  ached  all  night  almost." 

"  What  is  it  about  the  snake  ? "  asked  Melissa.  "  We 
stopped  at  the  tavern,  and  some  one  told  pa  a  great 
story  about  your  saving  Fletcher's  girl  from  a  snake." 

"  It  wasn't  any  great  story,"  answered  Kit  com- 
posedly. "  A  copperhead  snake  twisted  round  Eddy's 
leg,  and  I  pulled  it  off  and  killed  it." 

167 


1 68          OLDHAM;   OK,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  Yes,  that's  a  likely  yarn,"  said  Melissa  contempt- 
uously. "  How  did  you  pull  it  off,  I  should  like 
to  know  ?  and  how  did  you  know  it  was  a  copper- 
head ? " 

"  I  took  it  with  my  thumb  and  finger  right  behind 
its  head,  and  then  stamped  on  it,"  answered  Kit. 
"  And  Mr.  Bassett  said  it  was  a  copperhead ;  but  I 
knew  it  just  as  soon  as  I  saw  it." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  said  Melissa. 

"And  I  don't  care  whether  you  believe  it  or  not," 
retorted  Kit.  Somehow  Melissa  always  aroused  all 
that  was  unamiable  in  the  child's  disposition.  Melissa 
delighted  in  teasing  her,  and  found  great  amusement 
in  the  fits  of  passion  she  sometimes  provoked. 

"  Well,  well,  you  were  a  brave  child  ;  but  you  had 
no  business  to  run  such  a  risk,"  was  Phin's  com- 
ment. "  Suppose  the  snake  had  bitten  you  ? " 

"Then  I  should  have  died,  I  suppose,"  replied  Kit 
simply. 

"We  don't  want  you  to  die  just  yet,"  said  Phin 
with  some  show  of  feeling.  "  You  must  hurry  and 
get  your  hand  well." 

"  Why  ? "  asked  Kit,  struck  with  something  un- 
usual in  the  tone. 

"  Oh,  because.  Maybe  I  shall  want  you  to  do 
something  for  me,"  answered  Phin  with  assumed 
carelessness. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  mincing  matters,  pa  ? "  asked 
Melissa.  "  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  that  we 
have  got  a  place  in  Oldbury  for  Kit ;  and  she  is  go- 
ing to  it  as  soon  as  her  hand  gets  well,  so  there ! " 
and  Melissa  threw  herself  back  in  her  chair  with  a 


THE  BIRDS   OF   THE  AIR.  169 

glance  which  spoke  of  satisfied  and  malicious  tri- 
umph. 

"  There  will  be  two  words  to  that,"  said  Symantha 
dryly.  "  What  sor£  of  a  place  ? " 

"A  place  to  wash  dishes  and  wait  on  table  at 
Stillwell's  confectionery  and  dining  hall,"  answered 
Melissa.  "  They  will  give  her  a  dollar  and  a  half  a 
week,  and  perhaps  more  if  she  earns  it." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Symantha  in  the  same  dry  tone. 
"  And  what  are  they  going  to  give  me  ? " 

"  You  ?  "  said  her  father.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Kit,  run  out  and  let  in  the  cows,"  said  Syman- 
tha. "  I  mean  what  I  say,  father,"  she  continued 
firmly  as  Kit  left  the  room.  "That  child  is  not 
going  to  any  such  place  as  Stillwell's,  or  to  any  place 
at  present ;  or,  if  she  does,  I  go  with  her." 

"  You  do  ?  And  who  is  to  take  care  of  Martha 
and  the  work  ?." 

"  I'm  sure  I  won't,"  said  Melissa. 

"  That  is  your  affair,"  answered  Symantha.  "  All 
I  know  is,  that,  if  Kit  goes  to  work  in  Oldbury,  I  go 
too." 

"What  nonsense!"  said  Phin  peevishly.  "What 
is  the  child  to  you  ?  Besides,  Melissa  is  going  to 
work  in  the  same  place ;  and  she  can  see  to  the  child 
if  she  needs  any  seeing  to." 

"  Melissa  will  have  enough  to  look  after  herself 
if  she  goes  to  that  rum-hole,"  returned  Symantha. 
"I  should  think,  if  she  wants  a  place,  she  might  at 
least  take  a  decent  one." 

"  I  am  not  going  into  any  one's  kitchen  when  I 
can  get  four  dollars  a  week  and  lots  of  presents  by 


I/O          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

standing  behind  a  counter,"  said  Melissa.  "  How- 
ever, you  can  settle  it  between  you,"  she  added,  ris- 
ing from  the  table.  "  I  am  going  over  to  Mariette 
Jewsbury's.  I  have  been  doing  some  shopping  for 
her." 

"  I  think  you  might  stay  and  help  do  up  the 
work,"  said  her  father.  But  Melissa  only  laughed 
as  she  slammed  the  door  behind  her. 

"  See  here,  father,"  said  Symantha  gravely.  "  I 
want  to  talk  about  this  matter  sensibly.  You  prom- 
ised me,  when  I  gave  up  every  thing — as  you  know 
I  did  —  to  stay  with  you,  and  take  charge  of  ma, 
that  I  should  always  have  my  own  way  about  Kit. 
Haven't  I  kept  my  part  of  the  bargain  ? " 

"  I  don't  deny  that  you  have,"  answered  Phin, 
"but  a  man  can't  always  keep  his  promises." 

"You  must  keep  yours  in  this  case,  or  I  shall  not 
keep  mine,"  said  Symantha.  "Just  as  surely  as  Kit 
goes  to  Oldbury,  I  shall  go  too.  You  know  best 
how  you  would  get  on  without  me." 

"You  are  a  fool,"  said  her  father  roughly,  but 
evidently  moved.  "  I  tell  you  we  ought  to  get  her 
away  from  here.  She  grows  more  like  her  mother 
every  day.  This  old  lady,  Mrs.  Van  Zandt,  is  sure 
to  see  her ;  and  then  there  will  be  an  inquiry,  and 
all  will  come  out,  about  the  property  and  all." 

"Well,  let  it  come.  It  was  foolish  to  make  a 
secret  of  it  in  the  first  place.  You  are  not  account- 
able for  the  property." 

"That  is  all  you  know  about  it.  I  tell  you  the 
child  must  go." 

"Then  I  must  go,  too,  that's  all,"  was  the  calm 


THE  BIRDS  OF   THE  AIR.  171 

rejoinder.  "And  there  is  another  thing:  I  can't 
spare  Kit.  She  can  manage  ma  better  than  any- 
body, and  sometimes  when  I  can't  do  any  thing  with 
her;  and  it  is  every  thing  to  keep  her  quiet." 

"  That  is  true ;  and,  if  Melissa  goes  away,  you  will 
need  her  help  about  the  work,"  said  Phin,  evidently 
wavering  in  his  purpose  more  and  more  as  he  saw 
the  steadfastness  of  his  daughter.  "  Perhaps  you 
had  better  keep  her  out  of  school." 

"  I  don't  want  to  do  that.  She  is  getting  on 
nicely,  and  making  good  friends." 

"  Yes,  that  is  one  trouble.  She  makes  too  many 
friends." 

"  It  won't  be  a  trouble  if  you  don't  make  a  fuss 
about  it.  Please  listen  to  me,  father.  I  have  been  a 
dutiful  daughter  to  you,  haven't  I  ?  I  don't  set  up  for 
goodness,  but  you  know  whether  I  have  been  that." 

"Yes,  my  girl,  you  have,"  said  her  father  with 
feeling.  "  I  don't  deny  it.  You  have  stuck  to  me 
through  thick  and  thin,  as  very  few  girls  would  have 
done." 

"  Then,  if  I  have,  give  me  my  way  in  this,"  pleaded 
Symantha.  "  Let  me  keep  Kit.  If  I  can  find  the 
right  kind  of  place  for  her,  I  will  let  her  go  by  and 
by ;  but  let  me  keep  her  now.  Don't  send  her 
straight  to  ruin.  Melissa  is  a  woman,  and  must  go 
her  own  way  ;  but  don't  send  the  innocent  child  into 
such  a  place  as  Stilhvell's."  And,  to  her  father's 
amazement  and  alarm,  Symantha  burst  into  tears. 
He  had  never  seen  her  cry  before,  since  she  was  a 
child. 

"  There,  there,  my  girl,  have  your  own  way,  and 


OLDHAM;   OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

don't  cry,"  said  he.  "  I  didn't  think  you  cared  so 
much  about  it.  Her  arm  is  too  sore  to  do  any  thing 
now,  and  I  can  make  that  an  excuse  to  Stillwell. 
There,  do  stop  crying.  I  won't  say  any  thing  more 
about  it  just  now,  at  any  rate." 

"Thank  you,  father,"  said  Symantha,  trying  to 
check  her  sobs. 

Phin's  lip  twitched.  "It  is  little  you  have  to  thank 
me  for,"  he  said  in  a  husky  voice.  "  I've  thrown 
away  your  life  as  well  as  my  own." 

"  You  needn't  throw  it  away,  —  any  more  of  it,  I 
mean,"  said  Symantha.  "  Now  we  have  got  this 
place,  why  can't  you  settle  down  and  be  steady  ? 
The  farm  isn't  a  bad  one  for  dairy-work,  and  the 
cows  are  good  and  growing  better.  I'll  do  my  share 
if  I  work  my  fingers  off." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  you  would  ;  but  —  Well,  there 
is  no  use  talking,"  said  Phin  gloomily.  "There  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  man's  breaking  away  from  his  past 
life.  It  will  come  after  him.  But  never  mind  that. 
You  shall  have  your  way  about  Kit.  Poor  girl,  you 
don't  have  much  comfort  of  your  life,  anyhow." 

A  few  minutes  afterward,  Phin  had  occasion  to  go 
to  the  barn-loft.  There  was  a  small,  roughly  finished 
room  in  one  end,  which  was  a  favorite  playing-place 
of  Kit's  in  bad  weather.  Phin  thought  he  heard  a 
voice,  and  peeped  through  a  knot-hole.  What  did  he 
see  and  hear  ?  He  saw  a  young  child  on  her  knees, 
almost  on  her  face,  in  an  agony  of  prayer,  and  heard 
over  and  over  again,  — 

"Oh,  don't,  don't  let  me  go  to  that  dreadful  place, 
away  from  Symantha  and  Miss  Armstrong  and  all ! 


THE  BIRDS  OF  THE  AIR.  173 

Please  do  make  uncle  Phin  let  me  stay  here,  and  do 
make  him  be  a  good  man  and  believe  in  the  Bible ; 
and  please  forgive  him  for  burning  me,  for  I  don't 
think  he  meant  to  do  it." 

When  Phin  reached  the  lower  floor,  he  stamped 
his  foot,  and  muttered  as  if  in  anger ;  but  his  anger 
was  not  directed  against  Kit.  When  Melissa,  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  said  something  about  the 
place  at  Stillwell's,  she  was  promptly  silenced. 

"  Kit  can't  go  now :  her  arm  is  too  bad.  And  I 
don't  know  that  I  shall  let  her  go  .at  all.  We  can't 
spare  the  only  saint  in  the  family ;  eh,  Kit  ?  Come 
here." 

Kit  came  trembling,  for  she  never  knew  what  to 
expect. 

"  So  you  don't  want  to  go  and  earn  wages,  and 
have  all  the  candy  you  can  eat  ?  You  would  rather 
stay  with  Symantha?" 

"  Yes,  I  would,"  replied  Kit,  taking  courage.  "  I 
don't  care  about  candy,  and  I  don't  want  to  go  away. 
Please,  uncle  Phin,  don't  send  me." 

"Well,  I  won't,  then;  not  just  now,  at  any  rate. 
I  thought  perhaps  you  would  like  a  change.  Is  your 
arm  so  sore  ?  "  he  asked,  as  Kit  winced  on  his  touch- 
ing it.  "  Let  me  see." 

He  undid  the  arm  tenderly  enough.  It  was  red 
and  angry,  and  had  the  peculiar  odor  of  a  bad  burn. 
Phin  looked  grave  over  it. 

"  If  this  is  not  better  by  Monday,  we  must  take 
you  to  the  doctor,"  said  he,  carefully  replacing  the 
bandage.  "  You  don't  think  I  did  it  on  purpose,  do 
you,  if  I  did  burn  the  book  ? " 


174          OLD  HAM;    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  No,"  answered  Kit.  "  Anyhow,  I  cared  more 
about  the  book  than  I  did  about  my  arm." 

"  I'll  get  you  a  prettier  book  than  that  some  day. 
There,  give  me  a  kiss,  and  go  to  bed." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Melissa  in  an  affected  tone 
of  carelessness,  which  nevertheless  trembled  with 
anger.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  care.  If  pa  thinks  he  can 
afford  to  quarrel  with  Stillwell,  it  is  nothing  to  me." 

Phin  made  no  reply,  and  the  matter  was  dropped. 

Sunday  morning  rose  warm  and  beautiful,  with 
that  indescribable  atmosphere  of  tranquil  repose 
which  belongs  to  Sunday  in  the  country,  and  espe- 
cially in  New  England.  By  ten  o'clock,  however, 
the  roads  were  alive  with  teams  of  all  sorts,  from 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt's  phaeton  and  Mr.  Weston's  roomy 
family  carnage,  to  old  Miss  Jewsbury's  venerable 
"one-horse  shay,"  and  Mr.  Bassett's  long  wagon, 
with  its  straight-backed,  splint-bottomed  wagon 
chairs,  with  its  crickets  and  cushions  put  in  here 
and  there  for  the  accommodation  of  the  smaller  fry, 
for  Mrs.  Bassett  always  took  her  children  to  church 
by  the  time  they  were  three  years  old.  Manifold 
were  the  greetings  and  hand-shakings  as  groups  of 
friends  and  relations  alighted  at  the  horse-block  by 
the  door  of  the  old  church  on  the  green  ;  and  many 
and  kind  the  inquiries  for  this  or  that  one  detained 
at  home  by  illness  in  their  families. 

"  No,  Celia  isn't  out  this  morning,"  said  Miss 
Delia.  "  She  had  one  of  her  bad  headaches  last 
night,  and  they  always  leave  her  kind  of  prostrated 
for  two  or  three  days.  Who  is  going  to  preach  ?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  we  shall  have  any  one,"  answered 


THE  BIRDS  OF   THE  AIR.  1/5 

Mr.  Weston,  to  whom  the  question  was  addressed. 
"  Mr.  Martin  sent  word  the  last  minute  that  he  could 
not  come  "  — 

"Just  like  him,"  interposed  Miss  Delia. 

"  Oh,  come,  you  mustn't  be  hard  on  him.  Perhaps 
he  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "Dr.  Chase 
drove  over  to  Oldbury  last  night  to  see  if  he  could 
find  any  one,  but  whether  he  succeeded  or  not  I 
don't  know ;  however,  we  shall  soon  find  out." 

"Well,  I  shall  be  glad  when  we  have  a  settled 
minister  again.  —  How  is  your  mother,  Agnes?  I 
see  she  isn't  out." 

"  No  :  Mrs.  Richmond  and  Milly  wanted  to  come, 
so  ma  staid  at  home  with  Cordelia.  I  am  going 
home  after  Sunday  school,  so  she  can  come  this  after- 
noon." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Richmond  ? "  said  Miss 
Delia  as  that  lady  sailed  up  the  steps  attired  in  a 
silk  which  had  once  been  rich  and  handsome,  but 
was  now  decidedly  the  worse  for  wear.  Mrs.  Rich- 
mond had  a  way  of  wearing  out  her  old  finery  in  the 
country.  She  seldom  went  to  church  in  Oldham, 
or,  indeed,  anywhere  else ;  but  she  had  a  desire  to 
get,  as  she  said,  a  good  look  at  Mrs.  Van  Zandt.  She 
acknowledged  Miss  Delia's  greeting  with  great  con- 
descension ;  while  her  daughter  did  not  notice  it  at 
all,  but  hastened  on  to  speak  to  Selina  Weston. 

"Well,  Selina,  how  have  you  been?  I've  been 
looking  out  for  you  all  the  way.  I  have  wanted  to 
see  you  so !  You  don't  know  how  often  I  have 
thought  of  you." 

"  Yes,  you  must  have  thought  of  me  very  often," 


1 76          OLD  HAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

answered  Selina  coolly,  "you  wrote  to  me  so  many 
times." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  you  don't  think  how  many  engage- 
ments I  have  in  town.  And  besides,  I  don't  know 
how  it  is,  I  haven't  any  taste  for  writing  letters  : 
I  can't  express  what  I  feel,  and  writing  seems  so 
cold  and  heartless.  But  I  have  thought  of  you, 
whether  you  believe  it  or  not.  I  should  have  come 
over  to  your  house  yesterday,  only  we  were  so  busy 
getting  settled,  and  poor  Cordelia  was  so  tired  with 
the  journey." 

Amelia  Richmond  was  one  of  those  people  whose 
very  voices  are  suggestive  of  flattery ;  a  palaverer, 
Miss  Delia  called  her,  but  Miss  Delia  was  a  little 
apt  to  be  severe. 

"  Do  you  sing  in  the  choir  now  ? "  asked  Amelia. 
Then,  as  Selina  nodded,  "I  mean  to  sit  up  there  this 
morning,  and  then  we  can  get  together  in  sermon 
time.  Oh,  you  needn't  look  so  shocked.  I  don't 
mean  to  talk,  of  course,  but  just  for  the  pleasure  of 
sitting  by  you." 

"Come,  then,"  said  Selina;  "it  is  time  we  were  in 
our  places." 

"Wait  just  a  minute.  I  want  to  see  the  Van 
Zandts  come  in.  Well,  they  don't  mean  to  hurt  them- 
selves dressing ;  but  I  suppose  any  thing  is  good 
enough  for  the  country,  as  ma  says.  Anyhow,  if  I 
was  heiress  to  half  a  million,  like  Miss  Bogardus, 
I  would  wear  something  better  than  satteen." 

"  Her  dress  is  elegantly  made,  though,"  said 
Selina,  feeling  all  the  time  that  she  ought  not  to  be 
discussing  such  matters  in  church.  "  See  that  other 


THE  BIRDS   OF   THE  AIR.  177 

young  lady.     Doesn't  she  look  like  a   cloud   in    all 
that  soft  cream-color  ?  " 

"  You  goose !  it  is  only  nun's  veiling,  and  did  not 
cost  a  cent  over  fifty  cents  a  yard,"  said  Amelia, 
who  estimated  every  thing  by  the  price.  "Well, 
they  are  no  great  sight,  after  all.  Here  comes  the 
preacher,  I  suppose.  Who  is  he  ?  Some  stupid  old 
country  parson,  I  dare  say.'* 

"  Do  be  quiet,"  whispered  Selina :  "  everybody 
will  hear  you.  Come,  we  must  go  up  stairs." 

i  "  On  second  thoughts,  I  believe  I  will  sit  with 
ma,"  said  Milly.  "  I  want  to  get  a  nearer  look  at 
Miss  Van  Zandt's  dress." 

Selina  was  not  sorry.  She  had  been  brought  up 
to  behave  properly  in  church  ;  and,  greatly  under 
Milly's  influence  as  she  was,  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  believe  that  whispering  and  laughing  in 
the  sanctuary  of  God  were  any  marks  of  high  breed- 
ing. Selina  had  come  to  church  more  than  usually 
disposed  to  serious  thought.  She  could  not,  per- 
haps, have  given  any  reason  for  her  state  of  mind 
that  day ;  but  she  felt  almost  ready  to  say,  once  for 
all,  that  she  would  take  a  decided  stand,  and  enlist 
openly  under  the  banner  of  her  rightful  King.  She 
took  her  seat  quietly,  arranged  her  books,  and  then 
opened  her  Bible  to  look  over  her  lesson. 

Oldham  church  was  a  simple,  pretty  building,  quite 
plain,  but  comfortable,  and  perfectly  adapted  to  the 
purpose  for  which  it  was  used,  if  it  had  been  kept 
in  order.  But  the  green  blinds  were  faded,  and  rusty 
with  the  dust  of  many  summers.  The  high  white- 
glass  windows  cast  a  light  which,  though  dim,  was 


OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

by  no  means  "  religious,"  as  the  poet  has  it ;  being 
darkened,  not  from  being  "  richly  dight,"  but  by  suc- 
cessive deposits  of  dirt  and  cobwebs.  Dust  and  flue 
lay  in  corners,  yes,  even  of  the  chancel  itself.  The 
chimneys  of  the  kerosene  lamps  were  dark  with 
smoke  and  fly-specks,  and  the  lamps  themselves 
looked  as  if  the  wicks  had  not  been  changed  since 
kerosene  was  invented.  Of  all  the  notable  house- 
wives who  came  thither  to  worship  Sunday  after 
Sunday,  not  one,  probably,  would  have  allowed  such 
a  state  of  things,  even  in  her  garret ;  yet  they  saw 
it  in  the  house  of  God  without  even  a  thought  of 
incongruity.  Now  and  then  somebody  would  make 
a  remark  about  the  dust  or  the  smoke,  but  that  was 
all.  It  was  Mr.  Archimball's  business.  He  was  a 
most  respectable  man  and  a  church-member,  and 
nobody  liked  to  hurt  his  feelings  by  suggesting  to 
him  that  his  business  was  not  attended  to. 

But  somehow  that  clean-swept,  well-aired  school- 
house  had  waked  people  up  wonderfully.  Mr.  Bas- 
sett  sniffed  the  air  as  he  entered,  and  said  to  himself 
that  it  was  "  stuffy  ; "  and  his  wife  saw  the  dust  in 
the  corner  by  the  stove  as  she  had  never  seen  it 
before.  Patience  Fletcher  looked  at  the  windows, 
and  thought  she  should  really  enjoy  washing  them  ; 
and  Mrs.  Weston  had  to  make  an  effort  to  withdraw 
her  mind  from  a  calculation  relative  to  the  number 
of  yards  of  new  carpet  which  would  be  required  for 
the  chancel  arjd  aisles.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  more 
than  one  feminine  mind  was  a  little  distraught  dur- 
ing the  service. 

But  dust  and  cobwebs  and  carpet  were  all  forgot- 


THE  BIRDS  OF   THE   A  IK.  179 

ten  when  the  preacher  began  his  sermon.  He  was 
an  old  gentleman,  very  plain  and  quiet  in  appearance; 
and  his  voice,  as  he  gave  out  the  text,  was  somewhat 
low  and  tremulous  :  "  Come  up  hither,  and  I  will 
show  thee  things  which  must  be  hereafter"  (Rev. 
iv.  i).  He  had  not  spoken  five  minutes  when  the 
attention  of  the  whole  congregation  was  fixed  as  one 
man.  It  was  not  the  brilliancy  of  his  style,  which 
was  simple  with  the  simplicity  of  much  reading  and 
study :  it  was  his  intense  earnestness,  and  his  evi- 
dent deep  conviction  of  the  awful  truths  which  he 
set  forth.  The  discourse  was  upon  the  "  last  things,'' 
— death  and  judgment,  hell  and  heaven.  Even  poor, 
frivolous  Mrs.  Blandy  forgot  to  study  the  dress  of 
the  strangers  in  church,  and  almost  resolved  that  she 
would  think  more  of  these  matters.  To  many  of  the 
congregation,  the  words  were  as  the  bread  of  life. 
To  say  truth,  Oldham  had  not  of  late  been  greatly 
favored  in  the  matter  of  preaching.  Mr.  Martin,  the 
late  rector,  had  prided  himself  on  being  liberal  and 
broad  in  his  views.  A  clergyman,  he  thought,  should 
keep  up  with  the  interest  of  the  day ;  so  he  talked 
much  of  science  and  criticism,  and  gave  his  hearers 
hashes  of  certain  monthly  magazines,  slightly  warmed 
and  mildly  seasoned  with  Scripture  quotations,  or 
preached  mild  little  moral  essays,  adapted,  as  he  was 
wont  to  say,  to  that  class  of  minds  which  make  up 
most  country  congregations.  In  truth,  Mr.  Martin 
felt  himself  thrown  away  in  Oldham  ;  and  he  did  not 
make  things  any  more  pleasant  for  himself  by  saying 
so,  and  by  his  continual  complaints  of  the  hardships 
of  his  position.  He  had  at  last  given  up  that  posi- 


180          OLDHAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

tion  for  the  place  of  assistant  in  a  large  city  church  ; 
but  the  large  city  church  had  not  found  Mr.  Martin 
any  more  congenial  than  he  had  found  the  people  of 
Oldham,  and  he  was  at  present  living  at  home  with 
his  mother. 

But  this  present  preacher  spoke  of  things  which 
every  one  wished  to  hear.  Agnes  Gleason  drank  in 
every  word,  only  wishing  that  her  mother  was  there. 
Selina  listened  intently,  forgetting  for  the  time  to 
wonder  whether  some  one  did  not  think  Myra  Bas- 
sett's  voice  better  than  hers.  She  had  naturally  a 
fine  taste,  and  she  had  read  good  books.  She  ap- 
preciated the  finished  elegance  of  the  discourse, 
but  that  was  not  all.  As  the  preacher,  with  the 
solemnity  of  deep  conviction,  set  forth  "the  things 
that  must  be  hereafter,"  Selina  felt  that  these  were 
indeed  the  real  things  which  make  life  worth  living ; 
which  give  to  worldly  things  all  the  significance 
which  they  possess;  which  must  have  a  being  after 
all  the  triumphs  and  treasures,  the  battles  and  vic- 
tories, of  this  world,  are  but  forgotten  dreams.  She 
made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  no  longer  live  as 
she  had  done ;  she  would  strive  to  live  as  a  Chris- 
tian should,  to  fulfil  the  vows  of  her  baptism  :  and 
then  —  here  the  little  mean  bosom  snake  of  envy 
reared  its  head  —  then  father  and  mother  would  think 
as  much  of  her  as  they  did  of  Lizzy.  Selina  was  not 
to  blame  for  the  voice  of  the  tempter  any  further 
than  that  she  had  given  him  encouragement  before. 
She  might  have  silenced  him  by  refusing  to  listen 
to  him,  but  she  did  not.  She  began  thinking  how 
much  more  devoted  she  would  be  than  Lizzy  had 


THE  BIRDS  OF   THE   AIR.  i8l 

ever  been,  how  she  would  teach  others,  how  she 
would '  influence  Milly  Richmond,  and  make  her  a 
Christian,  and,  perhaps,  go  on  a  mission,  as  Miss 
Armstrong  had  done. 

"  But  I  won't  come  home  the  first  minute  I  get 
sick.  No,  indeed !  I  will  die  on  the  field  of  battle," 
she  said  to  herself.  And  then  she  recollected  her- 
self with  a  blush,  and  found  she  had  lost  the  thread 
of  the  discourse. 

"  I  won't  be  so  silly  again,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  I  believe  I  am  always  thinking  about  myself,  as 
father  says."  She  managed  to  elude  Milly  when  she 
came  down,  and  went  straight  into  Sunday  school. 

"  Wasn't  that  a  noble  sermon  ? "  whispered  Faith 
as  Agnes  and  Selina  came  into  the  class.  "  Don't 
you  wish  we  could  have  him  all  the  time  ? " 

"  Yes,  indeed.     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Dr.  —  Somebody  from  New  York,  I  did  not 
catch  the  name.  See,  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  is  speaking 
to  him." 

"  I  wonder  what  we  shall  do  for  a  teacher,"  said 
Agnes.  "  I  am  so  sorry  Miss  Celia  isn't  here.  I 
wanted  to  see  her  particularly." 

"  Perhaps  Miss  Armstrong  will  teach  us,"  observed 
Faith. 

"  No,  she  won't.  The  doctor  has  forbidden  her 
teaching  in  Sunday  school  this  summer,"  replied 
Selina.  "  See  there,  girls  ;  father  is  speaking  to  Mrs. 
Van  Zandt.  I  wonder  if  he  is  asking  her  to  hear 
us.  I  wish  she  would.  She  is  so  sweet-looking." 

"You  will  have  your  desire,  then,"  said  Agnes, 
"  for  here  she  comes." 


1 82          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  O  mother,  how  I  wish  you  had  been  in  church*! " 
said  Agnes  after  Sunday  school,  coming  into  the 
room  where  Mrs.  Gleason  was  pouring  out  an  after- 
dinner  cup  of  tea  for  her  boarders.  "We  did  have 
such  a  noble  sermon  !  " 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Gleason.  "  Mrs.  Rich- 
mond did  not  like  it." 

"  You  see,  it  is  not  the  kind  of  preaching  I  am 
used  to,"  said  Mrs.  Richmond  in  a  tone  which  al- 
ways seemed  to  say,  "See  how  superior  I  am."  "In 
the  city  one  hears  such  a  different  style.  You 
should  hear  Dr.  Madison, — that  is  an  intellectual 
feast,  though  I  admit  that  he  is  rather  old-fashioned. 
And  such  a  congregation  as  he  has !  You  can't  hire 
any  kind  of  a  pew  for  less  than  five  hundred  dollars." 

"  It  was  Dr.  Madison  who  preached  this  morning," 
said  Agnes  quietly,  but  with  a  gleam  of  mischief  in 
her  eyes. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Milly.  "  A  likely  story,  indeed, 
that  Dr.  Madison  would  be  preaching  in  a  place  like 
this ! " 

"  It  could  not  be  our  Dr.  Madison,"  added  Mrs. 
Richmond.  "  Very  likely  that  might  be  his  name, 
however :  it  is  not  an  uncommon  one." 

"All  I  know  is,"  said  Agnes,  "that  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt  taught  our  class.  Dr.  Madison  came  into 
Sunday  school,  and  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  introduced  him 
to  us.  He  said  a  few  words  on  the  lesson.  After- 
ward I  asked  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  where  he  preached, 
and  she  said  in  St.  Timothy's  Church  in  New  York. 
She  goes  there,  so  she  ought  to  know." 

"Dear  me!"  said  Mrs.  Richmond,  "I  am  so  very 


THE  BIRDS  OF   THE  AIR.  183 

short-sighted,  and  I  am  sure  the  dear  doctor  did  not 
do  himself  justice  this  morning.  But  he  is  growing 
old,  poor  dear  man." 

44  Well,  I  never  wish  to  hear  a  better  sermon  than 
he  gave  us  this  morning,"  said  Agnes. 

44  You  are  a  judge,  no  doubt,"  sneered  Milly ; 
44  you  have  had  so  many  opportunities  of  forming  a 
taste." 

44  It  is  not  a  matter  of  taste  exactly,"  said  Agnes, 
getting  hold  of  her  temper,  which  was  in  some  dan- 
ger of  escaping  from  her  control.  44  Dr.  Madison's 
sermon  was  just  what  I  wanted  to  hear.  It  went 
straight  to  the  right  spot,  as  poor  Aunt  Betsy  says 
about  her  coffee.  And  what  he  said  in  Sunday 
school  was  so  nice.  He  did  not  talk  baby-talk,  as 
some  do,  or  tell  funny  stories,  but  spoke  as  if  the 
children  were  rational  beings.  You  must  go  this 
afternoon,  mother.  Do  get  ready.  I  will  do  up  the 
work." 

"  I  believe  I  will  go  too,"  said  Milly.  "  I  want  to 
see  whether  it  was  really  Dr.  Madison." 

"  I  thought  you  would  stay  with  Cordelia,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Richmond.  "  I  want  to  lie  down  a  while. 
My  head  aches  very  badly." 

"Oh,  she  won't  want  any  thing,"  replied  Milly 
carelessly.  "  You  can  just  as  well  lie  down  in  her 
room."  And,  without  saying  more,  she  went  away 
to  get  ready  for  church.  Her  mother  looked  after 
her  with  a  sigh.  She  often  had  occasion  to  deplore 
Milly's  selfishness,  but  it  never  occurred  to  her  to 
think  that  it  was  the  direct  result  of  her  own  training. 

"  I  will  stay  with  Cordelia,  Mrs.  Richmond,"  said 


1 84          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

Agnes.  "  I  will  put  the  dishes  to  soak,  and  wash 
them  after  supper  ;  and  you  can  lie  down  in  my  room, 
and  have  a  good  sleep.  I  am  sure  you  need  it." 

This  was  something  of  a  sacrifice  for  Agnes.  She 
had  been  looking  forward  to  a  quiet  afternoon  with 
her  Bible.  She  was  fond  of  Cordelia,  and  sorry  for 
her ;  but  the  poor,  feeble  child  was  often  fretful  and 
hard  to  please,  and  Agnes  sometimes  thought  she 
invented  wants  to  keep  her  attendants  from  sitting- 
still.  But  Agnes  had  a  new  principle  of  action  with- 
in, which  made  her  apply  to  herself  the  Golden  Text 
she  had  recited  that  very  morning,  — "  For  even 
Christ  pleased  not  Himself." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear  ;  you  are  really  very  kind," 
said  Mrs.  Richmond.  Hard,  worldly  woman  as  she 
was,  nothing  touched  her  so  quickly  as  kindness 
shown  to  her  sick  child.  "But  I  don't  like  to  de- 
prive you  of  the  pleasure  of  hearing  your  favorite 
preacher." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  hear  him  again  some  time,"  answered 
Agnes  :  "he  is  going  to  stay  at  Oldfield  all  summer. 
And,  besides,  I  did  not  mean  to  go  to  church  this 
afternoon,  at  any  rate.  My  room  is  shady  and  cool, 
and  I  hope  you  will  have  a  nice  nap.  Don't  you 
think  I  might  draw  Cordelia  out  on  the  veranda? 
It  is  sheltered  on  that  side  of  the  house,  and  the  air 
is  lovely." 

"  I  should  be  very  glad  if  you  can  persuade  her  to 
go  out,"  said  Mrs.  Richmond.  "  The  doctor  says  she 
must  have  as  much  fresh  air  as  possible,  but  it  is 
hard  to  get  her  to  move." 

"  You  will  have  your  hands  full,"  said  Mrs.  Glea- 


THE   BIRDS   OF   THE   AIR.  185 

son  as  Agnes  helped  her  to  put  on  her  shawl.  "The 
poor  child  is  worse  than  I  ever  saw  her." 

"  Cross  ?  "  asked  Agnes. 

"No,  not  exactly,  but  nervous  and  full  of  fancies. 
It  seems  she  did  not  want  to  come  away  from  home. 
She  says  she  knows  she  shall  never  be  well,  and  it  is 
just  tormenting  her  for  nothing." 

"I  believe  she  is  right  there,"  said  Agnes.  "She 
has  failed  a  great  deal  this  winter.  I  wonder  her 
mother  doesn't  see  it." 

"  Folks  can't  see  what  they  won't  see,"  was  Mrs. 
Gleason's  remark.  "Perhaps  Cordelia  may  go  to 
sleep,  and  then  you  can  have  a  nice 'time  reading." 

But  Cordelia  had  no  mind  to  go  to  sleep.  She 
had  always  been  a  delicate  child,  and  was  now  fading 
away  in  one  of  those  mysterious  "  declines "  for 
which  no  reason  can  be  given  ;  suffering  much  at 
times  from  neuralgia,  and  always  from  that  nervous 
weakness  which  is  still  harder  to  bear. 

"  Where  is  mother  ?  "  was  her  first  question. 

"  She  has  a  bad  headache,  and  has  gone  to  lie 
down.  You  ca'n  stand  it  with  me  a  little  while,  can't 
you  ?  "  asked  Agnes  cheerfully. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  church?"  was  the  next 
sharp  inquiry. 

"  Because  I  staid  at  home  to  let  mother  go,  and  to 
take  care  of  you." 

"  I  am  sure  that  was  very  good  of  you,"  was  the 
somewhat  unexpected  answer.  "  I  don't  think  I  am 
very  entertaining  company." 

"  We  don't  expect  sick  people  to  be  entertaining," 
said  Agnes.  "  But,  Cordelia,  I  wish  you  would  let 


1 86          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

me  put  you  in  your  chair,  and  take  you  out  of  doors. 
You  don't  know  how  lovely  it  is." 

Cordelia  objected  at  first,  but  suffered  herself  to 
be  persuaded.  Agnes  wrapped  her  up  carefully,  and, 
putting  her  into  her  wheeled  chair,  drew  her  out 
upon  the  broad  old-fashioned  "  stoop "  before  the 
front-door,  which  commanded  a  lovely  view  of  field 
and  mountain. 

"  Isn't  this  nice  ? "  said  she  as  she  settled  her 
charge  in  the  pleasantest,  shadiest  corner,  and  ar- 
ranged her  wraps,  for  Agnes  was  a  born  nurse. 
"  Look,  you  can  see  the  people  going  into  church." 

"  I  wish  I  could  go,"  said  Cordelia  with  a  deep 
sigh.  "  But  I  shall  never  go  anywhere  again  :  I  know 
that  very  well,  for  all  they  say  about  my  getting  bet- 
ter." Agnes  did  not  answer,  except  by  a  kiss  upon 
the  pale  forehead.  She  knew  how  to  be  silent  when 
there  was  nothing  to  say.  She  brought  her  Bible, 
and  sat  down  on  the  step  by  Cordelia ;  and  the  two 
were  quiet  for  some  time. 

"  Who  is  that  very  dark,  very  old-looking  man 
walking  up  the  street  ? "  asked  Cordelia  at  last. 
"There,  he  is  just  going  up  the  church  steps." 

"  That  is  old  Abner  Kettle,"  answered  Agnes. 
"  He  is  the  last  full-blooded  Indian  left  anywhere 
about  here.  He  is  a  hundred  at  the  very  least.  We 
know  that,  because  he  remembets  the  Revolution 
quite  well.  He  has  a  very  nice  little  place  of  his 
own  over  on  Indian  Hill,  and  works  in  his  garden  as 
well  as  any  one,  besides  walking  to  church  every 
Sunday.  We  must  ask  him  up  here  some  day.  You 
would  like  to  hear  him  talk." 


THE  BIRDS  OF   THE  AIR.  187 

"  And  I  am  only  fifteen,  fifteen  my  next  birthday, 
and  I  shall  never  walk  again  anywhere,"  said  Cor- 
delia in  a  tone  of  deep  sadness.  "  But  there,  I  won't 
bother  you.  Read  your  book  in  peace.  What  is  it?" 

"  The  Bible,"  answered  Agnes.  "  I  was  going  to 
look  over  my  Sunday-school  lesson,  but  I  can  do  it 
another  time  if  you  would  rather  talk." 

"  I  don't  mind,"  said  Cordelia.  She  was  silent 
a  while,  and  then  spoke  again,  — 

"Agnes,  isn't  there  a  chapter  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment somewhere  about  'many  mansions,'  or  some 
such  thing  as  that  ?  "  * 

"  Yes :  in  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  St.  John's 
Gospel.  Shall  I  read  it  to  you  ? " 

"Yes,  please." 

Agnes  read  the  chapter.  She  had  a  pleasant  voice, 
and  read  well  and  reverently.  It  seemed  to  her  as 
if  the  wonderful  words  had  never  seemed  half  so 
wonderful  before. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Cordelia  when  she  had  fin- 
ished. She  was  silent  a  little,  and  then  said,  with 
a  kind  of  abruptness,  — 

"Agnes,  how  should  you  feel  if  you  knew  you 
were  dying,  as  I  am  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Agnes.  "  I  never  was 
dangerously  ill  a  day  in  my  life.  But  what  makes 
you  think  you  are  dying,  Cordelia  ?  The  doctors  do 
not  say  so,  and  your  mother  thinks  you  are  better." 

"What  do  you  think?"  asked  Cordelia  with  a  kind 

1  This  may  seem  improbable,  but  I  have  met  with  worse  cases.  An  elderly 
lady  asked  me  if  "  Do  as  you  would  be  done  by,"  or  something  like  it,  was  not 
in  the  Bible.  This  same  lady,  by  the  way,  could  talk  quite  glibly  about  "  the 
latest  results  of  German  criticism." 


1 88          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

of  fierceness.  Then,  as  Agnes  did  not  reply,  she  said 
more  gently,  — 

"  Do  tell  me  just  what  you  think.  I  can't  say  a 
word  to  mother,  because  she  cries  so ;  and  Milly  only 
laughs,  and  says,  'Oh,  you  are  notional.'  Do  tell 
me." 

"I  think  you  are  not  as  well  as  you  were  last 
summer,"  answered  Agnes. 

"  But  now,  suppose  I  were  your  sister,"  persisted 
Cordelia,  "  would  you  have  any  hopes  of  me  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  Agnes,  "I  don't  think  I  should." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Cordelia.  She  was  silent  a 
little,  and  then  asked,  — 

"  Agnes,  would  you  be  afraid  to  die  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  Agnes.  "  People  are 
not  always  afraid.  There  was  Jenny  Bassett,  Myra's 
cousin,  who  died  last  summer  of  consumption  :  she 
had  no  more  fear  than  you  have  of  coming  out  here. 
And  it  was  the  same  with  young  Mrs.  Fletcher." 

"But  it  is  so  dreadful,"  said  the  poor  girl,  shudder- 
ing, "  to  go  away  from  every  one  you  have  ever 
known,  out  into  another  world,  one  doesn't  know 
where  ;  and  that  fearful  judgment !" 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think,  Cordelia,  if  you  will 
try  to  be  quiet,  and  not  agitate  yourself,"  said  Agnes. 
"  I  am  only  a  girl  like  yourself,  you  know." 

"  Never  mind.     Tell  me  what  you  think." 

"It  is  just  like  this,"  said  Agnes  :  "if  we  are  chil- 
dren of  God,  we  don't  go  out  into  a  strange  world 
among  strangers.  We  go  home  to  our  Father's 
house,  as  the  chapter  says,  where  He  is,  and  where 
our  Saviour  has  gone  to  prepare  a  place  for  us.  We 


THE  BIRDS  OF   THE  AIR.  189 

don't  know  very  much  about  it,  to  be  sure ;  some- 
times I  wish  He  had  told  us  more.  But  we  know 
that  there  will  be  no  more  pain,  or  sorrow,  or  death  ; 
that  our  Lord  will  be  there,  and  He  will  wipe  away 
all  tears  from  our  eyes.  So  we  shall  not  go  among 
strangers.  And,  as  to  the  judgment,  I  don't  think 
we  need  fear  that,  because  He  says —  See  here." 
Agnes  turned  to  the  first  chapter  of  the  First  Epistle 
of  John,  and  read,  — 

"'If  we  confess  our  sins,  He  is  faithful  and  just  to 
forgive  us  our  sins,  and  to  cleanse  us  from  all  un- 
righteousness.' 

"And  there  are  other  places  where  it  tells  of  our 
sins  being  blotted  out,  and  remembered  no  more.  I 
don't  think  we  need  fear  the  judgment,  after  that." 

"But  that  is  for  Christians,  and  I  am  not  a  Chris- 
tian." 

"  But  you  may  be,  Cordelia." 

"I  don't  know  how." 

"  The  Bible  tells  us.  We  have  only  to  believe  on 
the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  we  shall  be  saved." 

"That  seems  very  simple  and  easy,"  said  Cordelia 
doubtfully. 

"  That  is  what  St.  Paul  said  to  the  jailer  when  he 
asked  what  he  should  do  to  be  saved, — believe  on 
Him,  and  take  Him  for  your  Saviour ;  that  is  all. 
Oh,  do  try !  You  don't  know  what  a  difference  it 
will  make.  I  am  not  fit  to  teach  you,  —  I  have  only 
just  begun  myself,"  said  Agnes,  blushing.  "  But  I 
know  how  different  every  thing  looks  to  me  from 
what  it  did  a  week  ago  to-day.  But,  Cordelia,  doesn't 
your  minister  ever  come  to  see  you  ? " 


190          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATEKS. 

"  We  haven't  any,  not  really,"  answered  Cordelia. 
"  Mother  and  Milly  don't  belong  to  any  church,  and 
they  don't  go  anywhere  regularly.  They  just  run 
about  from  one  church  to  another  to  hear  any  famous 
preacher,  or  for  the  sake  of  the  music.  A  lady  we 
know  —  Miss  Little  —  did  use  to  talk  to  me  some- 
times when  I  was  first  sick,  and  she  used  to  read 
good  books  to  me ;  but  mother  did  not  like  it.  Last 
winter  I  wanted  to  see  a  minister,  but  she  said  he 
would  only  put  gloomy  thoughts  in  my  head.1  As 
if  the  gloomy  thoughts  did  not  come  of  themselves  !  " 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  hurt  you,"  said  Agnes. 

"  No,  indeed.  You  have  done  me  good,"  said 
Cordelia.  "  You  don't  know  what  a  comfort  it  is  to 
open  my  mind  to  some  one.  But,  Agnes,  are  you 
sure  that  is  all, — just  believing?" 

"  I  am  as  sure  as  that  I  sit  here." 

"  But  why  doesn't  every  one  do  it,  then  ? " 

"Well,  you  see,  it  involves  a  good  many  things. 
People  have  pet  sins  that  they  don't  like  to  give  up." 

"That  would  be  just  my  trouble,"  said  Cordelia 
thoughtfully.  "  I  know  I  am  horridly  cross  and  self- 
ish a  great  many  times  ;  and  I  try  not  to  be,  but  I 
always  get  beaten  sooner  or  later." 

"There  is  just  where  the  help  comes  in,"  said 
Agnes  eagerly.  "  If  you  ask  Him,  He  will  give  you 
help  to  conquer  those  very  things.  Of  course,  we 
can't  do  it  alone ;  but  St.  Paul  says,  '  I  can  do  all 
things  through  Christ  who  strengthened  me.'" 

"  How  much  you  know  about  the  Bible  !  " 

"  I  ought  to  ;    I  have  had  pains  enough  taken  to 

1  A  literal  fact. 


THE  BIRDS  OF  THE  AIR.  191 

teach  me.  But,  Cordelia,  I  dare  say  Dr.  Madison 
will  come  to  see  you  if  you  ask  him.  He  is  going 
to  stay  in  Oldfield  all  summer." 

"  I  will  speak  to  mother  about  it.  Agnes,  you 
don't  know  how  much  good  you  have  done  me." 
She  coughed  as  she  spoke,  and  Agnes's  quick  eye 
saw  that  she  was  tired. 

"  Don't  talk  any  more  now,"  said  she.  "  Let  me 
turn  your  chair  back,  so  that  you  can  rest ;  and  then 
I  will  read  to  you,  and  perhaps  you  will  go  to  sleep. 
What  would  you  like  to  hear  ? " 

"  I  would  rather  hear  the  Bible  than  any  thing," 
replied  Cordelia,  "  I  know  so  little  about  it.  Begin 
the  Gospel  of  St.  John." 

Agnes  turned  the  reclining-chair  into  a  comfort- 
able couch,  added  another  shawl  to  Cordelia's  cover- 
ings, and  sat  down  to  read.  Cordelia  listened  at 
first  with  earnest  attention  ;  but  by  degrees  her  eye- 
lids drooped,  and  presently  her  soft,  regular  breathing 
showed  that  she  was  asleep. 

"  How  like  death  she  looks  !  "  thought  Agnes,  as 
she  gazed  at  the  white  cheek  and  almost  transparent 
eyelids.  "  How  can  they  think  she  is  better  ?  Well, 
at  any  rate,  she  has  freed  her  mind,  poor  child.  I 
am  so  glad  I  staid  with  her ! " 

Meantime  Amelia  Richmond  had  been  engaged  in 
a  very  different  fashion. 

"  Why,  Milly,  I  didn't  expect  to  see  you  to-day," 
said  Selina  as  they  met  at  the  church  door.  "  How 
quickly  you  slipped  away!  I  meant  to  ask  you  to 
come  into  Sunday  school." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Milly.     "  I  don't  go  to  Sunday 


I Q2          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

school,  and  I  don't  imagine  I  should  gain  very  much 
from  your  dear  cousin  Celia's  instructions." 

"You  might,"  returned  Selina.  "Father  says 
cousin  Celia  is  one  of  the  best  Bible  scholars  he 
ever  knew.  But  we  had  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  this  morn- 
ing. Cousin  Celia  is  not  well." 

"  What,  the  old  lady  ?  I  would  have  staid  if  I  had 
known  that,"  said  Milly.  "What  was  she  like? " 

"  I  thought  she  was  lovely,"  answered  Selina. 
"  She  introduced  our  class  to  Dr.  Madison,  and  he 
spoke  to  us  so  nicely.  Didn't  you  like  him  this 
morning  ? " 

"  Not  so  very  much,"  answered  Milly.  "  I  thought 
it  was  a  canting,  gloomy  kind  of  sermon.  I  like  in- 
tellectual preaching,  about  science  and  art,  and  so 
on." 

"  We  don't  go  to  church  to  hear  about  science  and 
art,  but  to  hear  the  gospel,"  said  Selina. 

"  Oh,  come,  now,  don't  you  begin,"  said  Milly. 
"  Has  Miss  Armstrong  got  you  under  her  thumb 
already  ?  She  might  well  say  she  was  coming  on  a 
mission  to  the  heathen." 

"  I  don't  believe  she  said  any  such  thing,"  re- 
turned Selina,  coloring. 

"  I  happen  to  know  that  she  did.  However,  it 
does  not  matter.  I  ought  not  to  have  repeated  it,  I 
suppose,  only  I  don't  like  to  see  people  imposed  upon. 
Miss  Van  Zandt's  dress  is  not  nun's  veiling,  Selina," 
added  Milly,  with  a  sudden  change  of  subject,  as 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt's  carriage  came  in  sight.  "  It  is 
real  China  crape.  I  should  not  think  she  would  wear 
such  an  expensive  dress  to  church  in  the  country, 


THE   BIRDS   OF   THE  AIR.  193 

especially  as  they  are  not  rich ;  but  I  dare  say  her 
aunt  gave  it  to  her." 

"  I  must  go  to  my  seat,"  said  Selina,  feeling,  for 
once,  a  desire  to  get  rid  of  her  companion. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Milly.  "  I  like  to  sit 
up  stairs  :  one  can  see  every  one  so  nicely." 

Selina  was  not  pleased ;  but  she  had  so  often  asked 
Milly  to  sit  with  her,  that  she  did  not  know  how  to 
decline  her  company.  Milly  made  herself  very  much 
at  home,  rather  to  the  annoyance  of  Myra  Bassett, 
with  whom  she  was  no  favorite ;  and  she  indulged 
herself  very  freely  in  making  remarks  upon  the  con- 
gregation. 

"  Do  look  at  that  woman  in  the  blue  bonnet  with 
green  and  red  flowers.  I  wonder  where  her  milli- 
ner lives.  I  should  like  to  employ  her.  Who  is 
she?" 

"  Mrs.  Bettys.     Do  be  quiet,  Milly." 

Milly  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  then  began 
again. 

"  Do  look  at  Mrs.  Chase.  What  a  figure  she  does 
make  of  herself !  With  all  her  husband's  practice, 
she  might  dress  decently,  one  would  think.  Who  are 
those  girls  in  white,  Selina  ?  I  never  noticed  them 
before." 

"The  Jewsburys.  They  live  in  our  district,  but 
they  hardly  ever  come  to  church.  They  were  at  the 
Bible  class  Thursday  night,  I  remember." 

"  Oh,  they  are  some  of  Miss  Armstrong's  heathen 
converts,  I  suppose.  She  means  to  get  you  all  under 
her  thumb." 

This  was  a  little  too  much  for  Myra's   patience. 


IQ4         OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

She  leaned  forward,  and  said  in  an  energetic  whis- 
per,- 

"  Miss  Richmond,  will  you  please  be  quiet  ?  We  are 
not  used  to  hearing  such  talk  in  the  house  of  God." 

Milly  tossed  her  head ;  but  she  saw  the  eyes  of 
some  of  the  elders  fixed  upon  her,  and  she  did  not 
venture  to  say  any  more.  All  through  the  sermon, 
which  was  a  continuation  of  the  one  in  the  morning, 
she  did  her  best  to  distract  Selina's  attention  by 
writing  notes  and  passing  candy.  Myra  Bassett  was 
furious.  With  all  her  good  qualities,  she  had  not  her 
tongue  under  the  most  perfect  government  in  the 
world  ;  and,  the  moment  service  was  over,  she  turned 
upon  Selina. 

"  The  next  time  you  bring  a  stranger  into  the  choir, 
Selina,  I  hope  it  will  be  some  one  who  knows  how 
to  behave  at  least  like  a  lady.  I  never  was  more 
ashamed  in  my  life.  I  wonder  what  ycur  father 
will  say.  It  was  a  regular  disgrace." 

"  Don't  distress  yourself,  Miss  Bassett,"  said  Milly, 
taking  the  words  out  of  Selina's  mouth,  as  she  was 
about  to  answer.  "  You  are  not  responsible  for  my 
conduct.  I  hope  every  one  could  see  that  I  do  not 
belong  here." 

"  I  hope  so  too,"  returned  Myra.  "  I  should  be 
sorry  if  they  could  not." 

"Do  be  quiet,  Myra,"  said  Selina  "What  a  fuss 
you  do  make  about  nothing !  I  should  think  scold- 
ing and  quarrelling  in  church  was  as  bad  as  any  thing 
Milly  or  I  did.  If  you  had  been  attending  to  the 
sermon,  you  would  not  have  known  any  thing  about 


THE  BIRDS  OF   THE  AIR.  195 

Myra  blushed.  She  felt,  that,  though  her  cause 
was  just,  she  had  put  herself  in  the  wrong  by  her 
hasty  speech.  She  began  to  say  something  more, 
but  Milly  interrupted  her. 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  apologize :  I  shall  not  bear 
malice,"  said  she  with  a  lofty  tone  of  condescen- 
sion. "  We  all  know  you  are  a  well-meaning 
young  woman,  but  you  should  think  before  you  speak. 
When  you  have  had  more  opportunities,  you  will 
know  better.  —  Come,  Selina  ;  "  and  she  drew  Selina 
away,  leaving  Myra  wondering  how  she  had  been  put 
down,  and  why  she  should  be  so  angry  at  being  called 
a  young  woman.  She  did  not  corisider  that  the  sim- 
plest epithet  may  be  made  abusive  by  the  way  it  is 
applied. 

"  Didn't  I  shut  her  mouth  nicely  ? "  said  Amelia, 
laughing,  when  they  reached  the  stairs.  "  She  won't 
begin  on  me  again  in  a  hurry." 

"  Well,  she  was  right,"  said  Selina  with  some 
spirit ;  "  I  was  ashamed,  myself.  What  did  make  you 
act  so,  Milly  ?  " 

"  What  did  I  do  ?  "  asked  Milly.  "  Are  you  going 
to  set  up  too  ?  But  I  see  how  it  is/'  she  added. 
"  They  have  fairly  conquered  you,  and  broken  your 
spirit  among  them,  so  that  you  don't  care  for  me 
any  more.  The  next  thing,  mother  Weston  will  say, 
*  Selina,  you  must  not  go  with  Milly  any  more  ; ' 
and  then  farewell  to  our  friendship.  You  will  never 
speak  to  me  again." 

Selina  did  not  quite  know  what  to  say  to  this.  She 
knew  in  truth  that  mother  Weston  did  not  approve 
of  the  intimacy. 


196          OLD  HAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"You  will  be  setting  up  to  be  very  pious  next," 
continued  Milly,  as  Selina  did  not  reply.  "  We  shall 
hear  of  you  speaking  in  meeting ;  perhaps  prepar- 
ing to  go  on  a  mission,  like  dear  Miss  Armstrong." 

Selina  blushed,  and  Milly  saw  that  her  random  shot 
had  hit  the  mark.  This  conversation  had  taken 
place  in  a  little  recess  under  the  gallery  stairs,  where 
the  girls  were  out  of  sight.  At  that  moment  Selina 
heard  her  father's  voice  calling  her,  and  went  for- 
ward ;  Milly  remaining  where  she  was. 

"  Are  you  too  tired  to  walk  home,  Selina  ? " 

"No,  father  :  I  should  like  it." 

"Then  I  shall  take  Mrs.  West.  Don't  hurry,  there 
is  plenty  of  time.  Go  round  by  the  brook,  and  you 
will  have  it  shady  all  the  way." 

"Are  you  going  to  walk?  Good!  I  will  go  with 
you,"  said  Milly,  joining  Selina  on  the  green  before 
the  church. 

"  I  am  going  round  by  the  brook,"  remarked  Selina. 
"  It  will  be  longer  for  you." 

"I  don't  care  for  that,  unless  you  want  to  get  rid 
of  me.  If  you  do,  say  so,"  returned  Milly.  Selina 
would  have  liked  to  say  s.o,  but  she  had  not  the 
courage ;  and  the  two  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  few 
minutes.  Then  Milly  began  again  :  — 

"  So  you  really  mean  to  give  me  up,  Selina?  " 

"  I  have  never  said  so,"  replied  Selina. 

"Actions  speak  louder  than  words,"  said  Milly 
with  a  sigh.  "Well,  I  suppose  it  is  all  right.  You 
are  dependent  on  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston,  and  of 
course  you  ought  to  please  them.  Oh,  yes,  it  is  all 
right ;  but  I  am  sorry.  I  thought  we  were  going  to 


THE  B7KDS  OF   THE  A  IK.  197 

have  such  a  nice  time  this  summer;  but,  if  you  are 
going  to  set  up  for  a  saint —  However,  you  ought 
to  please  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston,  of  course." 

"  I  have  never  said  either  that  I  was  going  to  give 
you  up,  or  to  set  up  for  a  saint,"  said  Selina  some- 
what angrily.  "  I  don't  know  what  you  want  me  to 
do,  Amelia." 

"  I  want  you  to  be  your  own  independent  self,  and 
not  take  all  your  opinions  —  your  likes  and  dislikes, 
'and  all  the  rest  —  from  some  one  else ;  no,  not  even 
from  Mrs.  Weston  or  dear  Miss  Armstrong,"  replied 
Milly.  "  If  Mrs.  Weston  were  your  own  mother,  it 
would  be  different,  though  even  then  I  think  you 
would  have  a  right  to  a  mind  of  your  own.  But  come ; 
as  you  say,  we  won't  quarrel.  I  do  hope  you  won't  give 
me  up,  Selina.  You  are  the  only  friend  I  have.  I 
never  can  get  on  with  Agnes  Gleason  ;  and  Cordelia 
is  worse  than  nobody,  poor  thing.  I  wanted  mother 
to  leave  her  at  the  Sanitarium  with  a  nurse,  and 
take  me  to  Newport  or  Saratoga,  where  I  could  have 
some  advantages  of  society ;  but  every  thing  is  Cor- 
delia with  her.  She  would  put  me  in  the  stove  and 
burn  me  up  to  warm  Cordelia's  feet.  But  you  won't 
give  me  up,  will  you,  Selina  ?  I  will  promise  not  to 
say  a  word  against  religion.  I  am  sure  your  mother 
would  do  me  a  great  deal  of  good  if  she  would  only 
be  kind  to  me.  Come,  now,  say  you  will  be  friends." 

What  could  Selina  do  but  say  she  would  always 
be  friends  with  Milly  ?  The  two  girls  sealed  their 
league  on  the  spot  with  a  sentimental  embrace ; 
and  Milly  began  at  once  to  exert  her  powers  of  con- 
versation, which  were  not  small,  for  the  benefit  of 


198          OLDHAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

her  companion.  She  began  with  a  description  of  a 
grand  ceremony  she  had  attended  at  the  Roman- 
Catholic  cathedral.  From  that,  the  divergence  was 
easy  to  the  park,  and  from  thence  to  various  gayeties, 
ending  with  a  masked  ball  in  which  Milly  had  sus- 
tained a  prominent  character,  had  danced  a  minuet, 
and,  according  to  her  own  account,  had  been  the  ob- 
served of  all  observers.  When  Selina  reached  home, 
all  serious  thoughts  were  completely  dissipated.  Her 
head  was  full  of  visions  of  that  gay  world  in  which 
Milly  moved,  and  her  heart  of  murmurs  that  she 
should  be  so  wholly  shut  out  of  it.  When  she  re- 
tired to  her  room  after  tea,  it  was  not,  as  usual,  to 
study  her  lesson  for  the  next  Sunday.  The  Bible 
lay  untouched ;  while  she  indulged  in  dreams  in 
which  her  own  mother  figured  in  the  character  of  a 
lady  of  wealth  and  fashion,  whom  circumstances  had 
compelled  to  abandon  her  child  for  a  time,  but  who 
now  turned  up  to  claim  her,  and  re-instate  her  in  the 
splendor  to  which  she  was  born.  The  birds  of  the  air 
had  picked  up  the  seed  pretty' thoroughly. 


CHAPTER   XL 

NEW    PROJECTS. 

KIT'S  arm  was  better  on  Monday,  but  nothing 
more  was  said  about  her  going  to  Oldbury.  Syman- 
tha  had  an  argument  with  Melissa-on  the  subject  of 
the  place  at  Stillwell's,  but  Melissa  was  not  to  be 
moved.  She  knew  her  own  mind,  she  said,  and  she 
could  take  care  of  herself.  Symantha  need  not  be 
troubled  about  her.  She  gathered  her  possessions 
together  on  Monday  morning,  and  departed.  The 
two  sisters  had  never  got  on  well  together,  and  Me- 
lissa did  not  express  any  regret  at  parting.  She  did 
not  speak  to  Kit ;  and  Kit,  on  her  part,  made  no  se- 
cret of  her  pleasure  on  the  occasion.  Melissa  had 
been  her  tyrant  and  torment  ever  since  she  could 
remember.  It  was  she  who  had  destroyed  her  cher- 
ished fragment  of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and  had 
instigated  Phin  to  the  burning  of  her  beloved  Testa- 
ment. She  felt  sure  that  the  proposition  to  send 
her  to  Stillwell's  had  come  from  Melissa  in  the  first 
place.  She  did  not  feel  safe  till  the  wagon  contain- 
ing Melissa  and  her  uncle  was  finally  out  of  sight, 
and  then  it  was  with  a  rejoicing  heart  that  she  began 

to  get  ready  for  school. 

199 


2OO          OLD  HAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  Well,  Kit,  I  suppose  you  are  perfectly  happy  to 
think  that  you  are  going  to  school  this  morning, 
instead  of  in  the  wagon  going  to  Oldbury,"  said 
Symantha. 

" Ain't  you  glad  too?"  asked  Kit. 

"Yes,  I  am.  I  don't  want  you  to  go  to  any  place 
just  now ;  certainly  not  there,  to  sell  whiskey  and 
beer." 

"I  never  would  do  it,"  said  Kit  firmly.  "They 
should  cut  me  to  pieces  first.  I  hate  the  very  name 
of  drink.  I  don't  believe  uncle  Phin  would  ever  be 
ugly  to  me  if  he  let  the  beer  alone." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Symantha,  sighing. 
"  I  wish  all  the  beer  in  the  world  were  poured  into 
the  sea." 

"Then  the  fishes  would  all  get  drunk,"  replied 
Kit,  laughing.  Then,  with  a  sudden  change  of  tone, 
as  she  glanced  at  Symantha's  face,  "  Don't  you  want 
me  to  stay  at  home  this  morning  ?  You  will  be 
alone  all  day." 

"  I  thought  you  liked  to  go  to  school  better  than 
any  thing,"  observed  Symantha. 

"  Well,  I  do ;  but  I  would  stay  at  home  to  help 
you." 

"  I  know  you  would,  but  I  would  rather  you  went 
to  school.  I  want  you  to  learn  all  you  can,  now  you 
have  such  a  good  chance." 

"  I  wish  uncle  Phin  would  let  me  go  to  Sunday 
school,  as  the  other  girls  do,"  said  Kit.  "There  is 
not  a  girl  in  our  school  but  me  who  docs  not  go  to 
Sunday  school,  and  they  get  such  nice  books.  I 
don't  see  what  harm  it  would  do." 


NEW  PROJECTS.  2OI 

"  Nor  I,"  answered  Symantha.  "You  should  go, 
Kit,  if  it  depended  upon  me  ;  but  I  don't  think  you 
had  better  say  any  thing  about  it  at  present.  I  am 
sure  pa  would  not  let  you  go,  and  it  would  only  make 
a  fuss.  Make  the  best  of  your  day-school,  and  learn 
all  you  can.  There,  good-by." 

*  Symantha  kissed  Kit, — an  unusual  demonstration 
of  affection,  —  and  the  child  went  on  her  way  with 
a  light  heart.  She  was  happier  than  she  had  ever 
been  before  in  her  short  life.  She  was  used  to  the 
shadows  of  her  home,  —  to  her  aunt's  wretched  state 
of  health,  and  -her  uncle's  varying  humors,  and 
Symantha's  occasional  impatience, — and  did  not 
mind  these  things  as  another  child  would  have  done. 
She  loved  with  a  kind  of  passion  the  beautiful  things 
about  her;  all  the  more,  that  the  last  two  years  of 
her  life  had  been  spent  in  a  wretched  street  of  a 
wretched  Western  town,  which  had  been  left  behind 
by  an  exhausted  mine  and  an  abortive  railroad.  She 
loved  her  school  and  her  teacher,  and  found  keen 
pleasure  in  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  for  its  own 
sake.  And,  above  and  beyond  all,  she  rejoiced  in  her 
new-found  inheritance  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 
She  had  received  it,  indeed,  as  a  little  child,  without 
a  doubt  or  question.  She  could  never  be  quite  for- 
lorn or  alone  again  :  for,  let  what  would  happen,  she 
had  a  Father  and  a  Saviour  in  heaven,  who  would 
never  leave  nor  forsake  her  ;  and  a  home,  sure  to  be 
hers  some  time,  where  she  should  never  be  unhappy, 
and  never  do  wrong  again.  For  there  were  times 
when  the  sense  of  sin  pressed  heavily  upon  her. 
She  had  never  known  that  many  things  were  wrong 


2O2          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

which  now  appeared  very  dreadful  to  her.  Like 
older  people,  she  found  herself  hindered  by  "the 
bands  of  those  sins  which,  by  her  frailty,  she  had 
committed,"  and  from  which  she  longed  to  be  re- 
leased. The  temper  would  rise  at  any  obstacle  or 
annoyance  ;  and  the  hard  names  and  wicked  words 
came  to  her  mind,  and  fell  from  her  lips,  almost  una- 
wares. Now  she  felt  these  thing  to  be  sins,  and 
grieved  over  them ;  but  there  was  comfort  even 
there.  That  same  Father  in  heaven,  whose  name 
and  nature  had  been  so  lately  made  known  to  her, 
hated  sin  ;  but  then,  He  loved  her,  and  therefore, 
Kit  reasoned,  He  would  help  her  to  get  rid  of  what 
He  hated.  It  was  a  very  happy  little  girl  who 
went  singing  over  the  hill-pasture  that  morning. 

Three  or  four  weeks  went  on  very  quietly  in  Old- 
ham,  and  especially  in  the  red-schoolhouse  district. 
In  the  village,  indeed,  there  was  a  little  stir,  occa- 
sioned by  the  startling  proposition  brought  forward 
by  the  church-wardens,  in  a  parish-meeting  called  for 
the  purpose  in  the  parlor  of  the  hotel  ;  namely,  that 
the  church  should  be  cleaned  and  painted  before  the 
arrival  of  the  new  minister.  If  it  had  been  proposed 
to  blow  up  the  church  with  dynamite,  some  people 
could  not  have  been  more  astonished ;  and  the  most 
astonished  of  all  was  Mr.  Archimball,  the  shoe- 
maker, who  had  been  sexton  for  years.  He  had,  for 
the  most  part,  confined  his  duties  to  ringing  the  bell, 
making  fires  in  winter,  and  dusting  the  great  Bible 
and  other  books,  and  sometimes  the  pulpit-cushions, 
on  a  Sunday,  and  filling  and  trimming  the  lamps  when 
they  absolutely  refused  to  burn  any  more  without. 


NEW  PROJECTS.  203 

"  Such  a  lot  of  new-fangled  notions ! "  said  he 
sulkily.  "Always  the  way  when  women-folks  take 
hold  of  things.  What's  the  matter,  anyhow  ? " 

"The  matter  is,  that  the  church  is  dirty,  and  needs 
cleaning,"  said  Mr.  Weston. 

"  Where's  the  dirt  ? "  snarled  the  sexton.  For 
answer  Mr.  Weston  pointed  to  the  windows. 

"  They  are  kind  of  cloudy,  that's  a  fact,"  said  Mr. 
Andrews,  the  storekeeper. 

"Kind  of  cloudy!  I  should  think  so,"  said  his 
wife.  "  I  wonder  what  you  would  say,  Mr.  Andrews, 
to  see  such  windows  in  your  own  house." 

"Well,  you  know,  Harriet  Anne,  you  never 
thought  of  the  windows  yourself  till  last  Sunday," 
said  Mr.  Andrews  mildly. 

"  That's  true,  and  more  shame  for  me.  Anyhow, 
I'm  ready  to  do  my  share  of  the  work." 

"  And  so  am  I,"  "  And  I,"  added  several  voices  ;  and 
more  than  one  notable  lady  felt  a  thrill  of  joy  at  the 
thought  of  a  house-cleaning  upon  so  large  a  scale. 

"  The  sisters  seem  to  be  all  sound  upon  the  clean- 
ing question,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  smiling. 

"The  women-folks  are  for  any  thing  that  will 
make  a  fuss,  and  give  'em  a  chance  to  gossip,"  mut- 
tered the  sexton. 

"  Now  about  the  painting,"  continued  Mr.  Weston, 
without  noticing  the  interruption. 

"That's  another  thing,"  said  Mr.  Blandy.  "That 
will  cost  money." 

"  Most  things  do,"  said  Dr.  Chase. 

"And  how  are  you  going  to  raise  it?  that's  the 
question,"  continued  Mr.  Blandy. 


2O4          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"Yes,  that's  the  p'int,"  said  Aunt  Betsy.  "How 
are  you  going  to  raise  it  ?  " 

"  By  subscription  among  ourselves,"  answered  Mr. 
Weston.  "  I  have  made  a  calculation  that  two  hun- 
dred dollars  will  cover  the  whole  expense." 

"  Two  hundred  dollars  is  a  good  deal  of  money," 
said  Mr.  Andrews.  "  Still,  if  every  one  will  do 
his  share —  Would  that  cover  the  blinds,  think, 
squire  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  As  you  say,  if  every  one  will 
do  their  share,  the  thing  can  be  accomplished ;  not 
otherwise." 

"  Yes,  but  you'll  see  they  won't,"  said  the  sexton. 
"It's  one  thing  to  stir  up  a  lot  of  women,  and 
another  to  get  the  men  started." 

"  We  have  made  a  good  beginning  already,  I  am 
happy  to  say,"  remarked  Mr.  Weston,  taking  up  a 
paper  which  lay  before  him  on  the  table.  "  Dr. 
Chase  has  headed  the  list  with  twenty-five  dollars ; 
another  person  has  put  down  the  same ;  and  the 
ladies  at  the  stone  house  will  give  us  twenty,  and 
more  if  it  is  needed." 

"  Seventy  dollars  ;  that  is  a  good  beginning,"  said 
Mr.  Bassett.  "  Put  me  down  ten  anyhow,  Squire 
Weston.  I  will  do  more  if  I  can,  but  that  freshet 
which  knocked  down  my  dam  has  made  it  a  kind  of 
an  expensive  year  for  me." 

"  Put  me  down  five,"  said  Mr.  Fletcher. 

"  Eighty-five  dollars.     Who  next  ? " 

"  My  sister  and  myself  will  give  five  dollars  be- 
tween us,"  said  Miss  Celia. 

"  Seems  to  me  that's  a  good  deal  for  you,"  said 


NEW  PROJECTS.  2O5 

Mrs.  Burr ;  but  Miss  Celia  did  not  answer.  It  was 
a  good  deal  ;  but  the  two  old  ladies  had  consulted 
together,  and  had  agreed  to  give  up  their  annual 
summer  visit  to  Elmfield  if  needful. 

"  I  don't  believe  in  this  subscription  business  any- 
how," said  Mr.  Blandy.  "We  might  get  up  a  fair, 
or  dinner,  or  something,  and  raise  the  money  that 
way,  or  at  least  a  part  of  it  ;  and  the  rest  might  wait 
till  it  came  handy  to  pay.'* 

"  And  so  saddle  ourselves  with  a  debt,"  said  Dr. 
Chase.  "  No,  thank  you ;  I  have  seen  enough  of 
that." 

"  Every'one  does  it,"  persisted  Mr.  Blandy.  "  That 
fine  new  church  in  Oldbury  has  a  twenty-thousand- 
dollar  mortgage  on  it  this  minute." 

"  Yes,  and  what  is  the  consequence  ?  Every  time 
they  try  to  raise  money  for  some  church  or  benevo- 
lent object,  there  comes  up  the  debt.  There  is  so 
much  interest  to  be  met,  that  great  debt  to  be  pro- 
vided for,  they  can't  even  raise  funds  for  a  new  Sun- 
day-school library.  No,  no  !  Bad  as  the  church 
looks,  I  would  rather  it  should  stay  so  than  that  we 
should  run  in  debt." 

"That  fifty  dollars  we  raised  for  missions  would 
come  handy  just  now,"  said  Mr.  Blandy  with  a  sneer. 
"  I  always  thought  charity  began  at  home." 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  the  charity  of  this  church  is 
not  to  begin,  after  an  existence  of  nearly  a  hundred 
years,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "  For  my  own  part,  I  do 
nor  regard  the  money  given  to  support  my  own 
church  as  given  in  charity,  any  more  than  that  I  use 
to  pay  my  bills  at  Mr.  Andrews's  store.  I  get  it  all 


2O6          OLDHAM ' ;   OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

back,  and  a  great  deal  more.  Which  of  us  would  be 
willing  to  do  without  the  help  we  get  here,  even  if  it 
cost  twice  as  much  to  keep  the  church  going  ? " 

"  Nobody,  I  guess,"  answered  Mr.  Andrews.  "  I 
don't  know  but  you  are  right,  squire,  though  I  must 
say  I  never  looked  at  it  in  that  way  before.  Well, 
you  may  put  me  down  for  twenty  dollars,  to  begin 
with." 

A  few  more  subscriptions  were  given  in,  and  a 
committee  appointed  to  canvass  the  town.  The 
ladies  decided  upon  a  day  to  begin  operations,  as  a 
good  deal  of  cleaning  was  absolutely  needful  before 
the  painting  could  be  commenced  ;  and  the  meeting 
was  about  to  be  adjourned  when  Mr.  Archimball 
rose  up  to  fire  his  great  gun,  which  he  had  kept  till 
the  last  moment.  He  had  much  to  say  about  his 
long  and  faithful  services,  extending  over  a  period  of 
twenty-five  years.  Twenty-five  years  he  had  rung 
that  bell  for  service,  and  tolled  it  for  funerals  ;  yes, 
for  the  grandfathers  and  grandmothers  of  some  of 
the  folks  present.  But  it  appeared  that  folks  were 
not  satisfied.  Very  well.  If  he,  Joseph  Archim- 
ball, did  not  suit  them,  let  them  get  somebody  that 
did.  He  washed  his  hands  of  the  whole  business. 
He  resigned  his  place  as  sexton.  There  were  the 
keys  of  the  church.  He  shook  off  the  dust  from  his 
feet. 

So  saying,  he  threw  down  the  keys  on  the  table, 
and  departed,  rather  wondering  that  no  one  tried  to 
detain  him.  ' 

"  But  they  will  be  after  me,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"They  won't  find  it  so  easy  to  do  without  me. 


NEW  PROJECTS.  2O/ 

They  will  come  asking  me  to  take  the  keys  again.  . 
But  I  won't  —  not  unless  they  offer  me  at  least  ten 
dollars  a  year  more  than  I  have  had  before." 

As  the  time  went  on,  however,  and  nobody  came 
after  him,  Mr.  Archimball  began  to  wish  he  had  not 
been  so  hasty.  As  it  drew  toward  the  end  of  the 
week,  he  decided  that  he  would  not  say  any  thing 
about  that -increase  of  salary;  and  on  Saturday  morn- 
ing he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  go  down 
and  get  the  keys,  open  the  windows,  and  even  air 
out  the  cellar.  The  women-folks  must  be  out  of 
the  way  by  that  time.  Lo  and  behold  !  when  he 
reached  the  church,  the  windows  were  already  open, 
and  a  young  person  of  the  colored  persuasion  was 
going  about  with  a  duster,  — actually  with  a  duster, 
and  a  feather  duster  at  that, — daintily  passing  this 
unheard-of  instrument  over  the  backs  of  the  old 
pews. 

"  Halloo !  "  said  Mr.  Archimball.  "  Who  are  you  ? 
and  what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"  I  am  Edward  Kettle,  at  your  service,"  returned 
the  stranger,  with  his  best  bow,  which  was,  indeed,  a 
very  fine  one.  "  As  to  what  I  am  doing,  I  am  put- 
ting the  church  in  order  for  Sunday,  seeing  that  the 
gentlemen  has  made  me  sexton." 

Mr.  Archimball  felt  that  his  great  gun  had 
"kicked,"  as  sportsmen  say.  He  could  hardly  be- 
lieve his  own  senses. 

"  You  /"  he  gasped,  like  the  caterpillar  in  "  Little 
Alice.  "  "  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I've  told  you  my  name  already.  As  to  my  fam- 
ily, I  am  old  Abner  Kettle's  grandson ;  and  me  and 


208          OLD  HAM ';    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

my  wife  has  come  to  live  near  the  old  gentleman. 
As  I  said  before,  the  church  has  given  me  the  ap- 
pointment to  take  charge  of  this  building,  which  the 
ladies  has  just  cleaned  up  in  the  most  elegant  man- 
ner; and  I  calculate  to  do  it." 

So  saying,  Mr.  Kettle  hung  up  his  duster,  and, 
producing  a  sickle  from  his  basket  of  tools,  began  a 
vigorous  attack  upon  a  colony  of  burdocks  and  this- 
tles which  had  flourished  at  the  side  of  the  church 
steps  from  time  immemorial. 

To  say  that  Mr.  Archimball  was  disgusted,  is  to 
give  a  faint  idea  of  his  sensations.  He  was  stunned. 
To  think  that  he,  he  whose  grandfather  and  great- 
grandfather were  buried  in  that  very  burying-ground, 
should  be  turned  out,  supplanted  by  a  colored  man, 
and  one  who  was  half  Indian  at  that !  And  for  what  ? 
Just  because  people  had  taken  some  new  notions 
into  their  heads  about  dust  and  air,  and  so  on.  It 
was  too  bad !  He  went  home  almost  resolved  never 
to  enter  the  church  doors  again. 

The  subscription  went  on  prosperously ;  and  by 
Sunday  Mr.  Weston  was  able  to  announce  that  the 
money  was  raised,  and  every  thing  ready  to  begin 
the  work.  It  was  with  no  little  satisfaction  that  the 
ladies  who  had  been  engaged  in  the  cleaning  looked 
at  the  clear  glass,  and  noticed  the  difference  in  the 
air. 

"  Isn't  it  delightful  to  have  the  church  so  clean  ! 
and  won't  it  be  fine  when  it  is  all  painted ! "  said 
Faith  Fletcher  to  the  other  girls  as  they  stood  at 
the  door  for  a  moment  before  Sunday  school.  "  And, 
oh,  isn't  it  nice  to  have  Dr.  Madison  again ! " 


NEW  PROJECTS.  2OQ 

"I  wish  we  could  have  him  all  the  time,"  said 
Agnes.  "  Don't  you,  Selina  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  think  I  shall  like  Mr. 
Brace  quite  as  well,"  answered  Selina  indifferently. 
"  I  don't  see  any  thing  so  very  remarkable  about  Dr. 
Madison's  preaching.  He  just  says  the  same  things 
that  one  has  always  heard." 

"  He  tells  '  the  old,  old  story,'  "  remarked  Faith. 
"What  do  you  think,  Agnes  ?  " 

"I  think  the  old  story  is  better  than  any  new 
one,"  replied  Agnes.  "  What  else  could  he  tell  us 
about  ?  I  thought  you  liked  him  ever  so  much  last 
Sunday,  Selina." 

"I  haven't  said  I  didn't  like  him,"  said  Selina 
rather  shortly.  "All  I  say  is,  that  he  isn't  any 
thing  so  very  wonderful.  Why  didn't  Milly  come 
this  morning,  Agnes  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  she  had  any  reason,  only  that 
she  did  not  care  about  it.  She  got  a  parcel  of  new 
books  last  night,  and  I  fancy  she  preferred  to  lie 
abed  and  read.  Mrs.  Richmond  staid  with  Cordelia." 

"  How  is  Cordelia  ?  "  asked  Faith. 

"  Her  mother  will  have  it  that  she  is  better,  but 
we  think  she  fails  all  the  time,"  answered  Agnes. 
"  Cordelia  has  given  up  all  hope  of  ever  getting 
well,  herself.  She  wants  to  see  a  minister,  and  I 
asked  Mrs.  Richmond  if  I  should  not  ask  Dr.  Madi- 
son to  come  over,  as  he  is  staying  at  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt's  ;  but  she  won't  hear  of  it." 

"  How  cruel !  "  said  Faith. 

"  Well,  no,  she  does  not  mean  it  for  cruelty. 
She  says  she  can't  have  Cordelia's  mind  rilled  with 


210          OLD  I! AM-,    OA\   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

gloomy  ideas.  She  must  be  kept  cheerful.  She 
didn't  like  it  a  bit  because  I  read  the  Bible  to  her 
last  Sunday,  and  she  hasn't  let  me  be  alone  with 
her  since." 

"  She  is  as  bad  as  Phin  Mallory  with  Kit,"  said 
Faith.  "That  poor  child  would  give  her  eyes,  al- 
most, to  come  to  Sunday  school ;  and  he  won't  let 
her.  I  do  wish  we  could  do  something  for  her. 
She  looked  so  sad  when  we  were  fixing  the  school- 
house  for  meeting  last  Friday.  You  can't  scold  her 
now  for  not  knowing  the  Lord's  Prayer,  Selina :  she 
reads  her  Testament  every  chance  she  finds." 

"  I  suppose  she  does  not  have  many  books  of  any 
sort,"  remarked  Faith.  "  But  I  do  believe  Kit  is  a 
real  Christian.  I  never  saw  any  child  try  harder  to 
be  good." 

"  She  knows  how  to  flatter  Miss  Armstrong,  and 
get  on  the  blind  side  of  her,"  said  Selina.  "  You 
needn't  look  so  shocked.  I  do  think  so.  Miss  Arm- 
strong thinks  any  one  is  perfection  who  can  talk 
about  religion.  Amelia  says  she  is  just  so  in  the 
city,  and  that  it  is  the  same  with  all  the  city  mis- 
sionaries. That  is  the  way  all  sorts  of  humbugs 
impose  upon  them." 

"  Amelia  knows  all  about  city  missions,  no  doubt," 
said  Agnes.  "  How  many  mission  Sunday  schools 
do  you  suppose  she  ever  saw  ?  I  don't  believe  Miss 
Armstrong  has  any  blind  side,  to  begin  with  ;  and 
I  don't  believe  poor  Kit  ever  thought  of  looking  for 
it.  She  is  a  good,  honest  little  thing,  worth  a  hun- 
dred of  Milly  Richmond,  and  not  so  very  much  more 
ignorant,  either.  Just  think!  Milly  did  not  know 


NEW  PROJECTS.  211 

that  our  Lord  and  the  apostles  were  Jews,  and  she 
thought  the  ancient  Romans  worshipped  the  Virgin 
Mary." 

11 0  Agnes!" 

"  She  did,  really." 

"And  you  told  of  it,"  said  Selina.  "I  don't  think 
that  is  very  nice,  —  to  go  telling  of  things  that  were 
said  in  your  own  mother's  house,  just  to  get  people 
laughed  at.  I  wonder  what  your  dear  Miss  Arm- 
strong would  say  to  that  ?  " 

Agnes  colored,  and  her  eyes  flashed.  She  did  not 
speak  for  a  moment,  and  in  that  moment  she  had 
gained  a  victory. 

"  She  would  say  I  was  wrong,  and  so  I  was,"  said 
she  quite  gently.  "You  are  right,  Selina:  it  is 
not  fair  to  tell  tales.  Come,  we  ought  to  be  in  our 
places." 

The  painting  began  next  day,  and,  of  course,  took 
longer  than  any  one  expected.  It  was  discovered 
that  some  other  very  essential  repairs  were  needed. 
Indeed,  when  the  committee  appointed  for  the  pur- 
pose came  to  examine  the  tower,  they  found  it  in  a 
really  dangerous  condition. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  repair  the  tower,  too,"  said 
Aunt  Betsy.  "That  will  cost  more  money.  It  is 
always  the  way ;  when  folks  begin  to  tinker,  there  is 
no  end  to  it.  When  the  tower  is  done,  you  will  find 
something  else  to  do." 

"  There  would  be  an  end  to  somebody  if  we  didn't 
begin  to  tinker,"  replied  Mr.  Weston,  "  and  that 
pretty  soon.  A  very  little  would  have  brought  the 
bell  crashing  down  into  the  porch.  Suppose  such  a 


212          OLD  HAM;    OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

thing  had  happened  when  the  tower-room  was  full 
of  the  little  children  ?" 

"  It  makes  me  shudder,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "Who 
noticed  it  first  ?  " 

"  Edward  told  me,  the  very  first  time  he  rang  the 
bell,  that  he  thought  there  was  something  wrong ; 
but  I  had  no  idea  things  were  so  bad  till  I  came  to 
look  into  them." 

"  Archimball  never  said  any  thing  about  it,  did 
he?" 

"  Not  he.  I  don't  suppose  he  has  been  into  the 
belfry  for  years.  The  fact  is,  we  have  all  neglected 
our  duty.  Selina  did  not  think  what  a  very  large 
kettle  of  fish  she  was  going  to  stir  up,  when  she 
made  that  proposition  about  cleaning  the  church." 

"  Yes,  that  is  always  the  way  when  folks  go  to 
stirring  up  things."  said  Aunt  Betsy.  "  Let  well 
alone,  I  say." 

"A  great  bell  hung  on  a  rotten  beam  over  people's 
heads  can  hardly  be  called  well,"  said  Mr.  Weston. 
"We  may  be  thankful  it  was  looked  to  in  time," 

"  And  what  are  we  going  to  do  for  a  church  while 
all  this  fuss  is  going  on  ? "  asked  Aunt  Betsy. 

"We  shall  meet  in  the  large  room  at  the  academy." 

"Well,  nobody  need  think  /am  going  there,  to  sit 
on  those  hard  benches,"  said  Aunt  Betsy.  "  I  shall 
just  stay  at  home  till  things  get  in  decent  order 
again.  —  Abby,  I  should  like  to  know  what  price  you 
gave  for  this  tea,"  she  added,  lifting  to  her  nose  the 
cup  of  black  tea  Mrs.  Weston  had  just  filled. 
"Seems  to  me  you  must  have  got  cheated." 

"  It   is  the  same  tea  we  have  been  drinking  all 


NEW  PROJECTS.  21$ 

winter,  Aunt  Betsy.  I  am  sorry  it  does  not  suit 
you." 

"  Oh,  I  can  drink  it,  I  suppose,"  said  Aunt  Betsy 
with  an  injured  air.  "I  calculate  to  get  some  my- 
self as  soon  as  I  can  go  over  to  Oldfield.  Mr.  An- 
drews hasn't  any  that's  fit  to  drink.  He  gave  me  a 
quarter  of  a  pound,  and  I  was  glad  when  it  was 
gone." 

"That  old  lady  isn't  burdened  with  gratitude,  is 
she  ? "  said  Miss  Armstrong  when  Aunt  Betsy  had 
finally  taken  her  tea  and  departed. 

"  I  doubt  whether  the  idea*  of  gratitude  has  ever 
.occurred  to  her  mind,"  replied  Mrs.  Weston.  "  She 
thinks  she  has  a  right  to  all  she  gets,  and  a  great 
deal  more." 

"  Mrs.  Richmond  says  she  wonders  the  church 
don't  put  her  into  the  widows'  asylum  at  Oldbury," 
remarked  Selina.  "  She  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Blancly 
about  it  yesterday,  and  they  both  agreed  it  would  be 
cheaper.  Her  place  would  sell  for  enough  to  pay 
her  entrance  fee  and  more." 

"There  would  be  several  objections  to  that,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Weston.*  "In  the  first  place,  she  would 
never  consent  to  go." 

"  She  would  have  to  go,  I  suppose,  if  people  left 
off  helping  her." 

"  I  doubt  it ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  there  is  no 
reason  why  she  should  go.  Her  land  brings  her  in 
something,  and  the  neighbors  must  do  the  rest. 
Why  should  we  turn  one  of  our  old  church-members 
over  to  the  Oldbury  folks  to  take  care  of,  when  we 
are  able  to  do  for  her  ourselves  ?  There  are  a  great 


214          OLDITAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

many  more  poor  people  in  Oldbury  than  there  are 
here." 

"But  she  is  so  cross  and  disagreeable." 

"  Well,  she  may  as  well  be  cross  and  disagreeable 
here  as  in  Oldbury,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "If  she  is 
so  trying  when  she  only  comes  in  now  and  then, 
what  would  she  be  to  those  who  lived  with  her  all 
the  time  ?  The  poor  old  soul  is  as  much  attached  to 
her  home  and  her  church  as  if  she  were  the  pleas- 
antest  person  in  the  world,  and  it  would  be  cruel  to 
send  her  to  finish  her  days  among  strangers." 

"According  to  that,  there  need  be  no  asylums  of 
any  sort,  if  people  only  took  care  of  their  own  neigh- 
bors," said  Selina. 

"  Perhaps  we  could  not  go  so  far  as  that,  but  cer- 
tainly much  fewer  would  be  needed.  You  are  quite 
right  there,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "As  to  poor  Mrs. 
Burr,  I  can  assure  you,  my  dear,  she  is  a  very  mild 
specimen  of  her  class  compared  to  some  that  I  know. 
There  is  a  woman  in  an  aged-women's  home  that  I 
know  of,  who  regularly  tells  every  one  who  comes  to 
the  house,  never  to  get  into  that  place  if  they  can  go 
anywhere  else.  I  have  known  her,  when  the  matron 
was  conducting  visitors  through  the  house,  to  come 
out  into  the  hall,  and  ask  in  the  humblest  tone  if 
she  might  not  have  just  a  crust  of  bread,  she  was  so 
faint  and  hungry,  or  if  she  might  not  have  an  old 
carpet  or  something  to  put  on  her  bed,  she  was  so 
cold  at  night.  And  yet  she  is  really  better  off  than 
ever  she  was  before  in  her  life." 

"I  dare  say." 

"Oh,  well,  we  must   not   be  too  hard  on  Aunt 


NEW  PROJECTS.  21$ 

Betsy,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "She  is  old  and  lonely, 
and  we  can  very  well  bear  with  her  humors.  We  are 
none  of  us  any  too  grateful  for  what  we  receive." 

Selina  chose  to  take  this  remark  to  herself,  though 
nothing  was  farther  from  Mrs.  Weston's  thoughts 
than  such  an  application. 

"  If  you  think  I  am  so  ungrateful  and  unthankful, 
mother,  I  think  I  had  better  go  and  live  somewhere 
else,"  said  she,  rising  from  the  table,  and  bursting 
into  tears.  "I  suppose  I  could  earn  my  living  ;  and, 
at  any  rate,  I  should  not  "  —  The  rest  was  lost  in 
sobs. 

"What  is  the  matter  now  ?"  said  Mr.  Weston  in 
surprise. 

"  If  you  want  to  find  fault  with  me,  you  might 
speak  out,  and  not  keep  talking  at  me,"  sobbed 
Selina.  "I  wish  you  had  never  taken  me  from  the 
asylum." 

"  Take  care  you  do  not  make  other  people  wish 
so,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "  Now  stop  that  noise  at 
once.  Go  and  wash  your  face,  and  then  come  and 
sit  down  to  the  table,  and  finish  your  supper  Do 
you  hear  me  ?  and  do  you  mean  to  mind  me  ? "  he 
added  more  sternly  than  before.  "  Come,  we  have 
had  enough  of  this.  If  you  will  behave  like  a  spoiled 
child,  you  must  be  treated  like  one.  Do  as  I  tell 
you." 

Selina  was  frightened.  Never  had  Mr.  Weston 
spoken  to  her  in  such  a  tone  before.  He  was  one 
of  the  most  even-tempered  men  in  the  world,  and 
generally  left  the  whole  interior  government  of  the 
family  in  his  wife's  hands.  He  had  always  been  very 


2t6          OLD  HAM;    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

indulgent  to  Selina,  and,  on  that  very  account,  his 
severity  was  more  effective  now.  As  he  kept  his 
eye  fixed  on  her,  she  felt  that  there  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  obey.  Not  another  word  was  addressed  to 
her  till  supper  was  over,  and  Miss  Armstrong  had 
left  the  room.  Then  Mr.  Weston  turned  to  her. 

"  You  will  help  your  mother  do  up  the  work,  and 
then  you  will  stay  at  home,"  said  he.  "Don't  let 
me  see  you  running  away  up  to  Mrs.  Gleason's,  as 
you  have  done  every  evening  this  week.  You  must 
turn  over  a  new  leaf,  Selina,  or  I  shall  have  to  do  it 
for  you.  I  will  not  have  your  mother  and  the  whole 
family  made  uncomfortable  by  you.  Now,  remem- 
ber." 

Never  in  all  the  seven  years  she  had  lived  at  the 
farm  had  Selina  met  with  such  a  reproof.  She  felt 
small  enough  as  she  went  about  clearing  the  table, 
and  worst  of  all  was  the  growing  feeling  that  she 
had  made  herself  ridiculous.  She  did  up  the  work 
sulkily;  and  then,  retiring  to  her  own  room,  she  threw 
herself  on  the  bed  without  a  word  of  prayer,  and 
cried  herself  to  sleep. 

"  I  don't  see  what  has  come  over  Selina,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Weston  as  she  took  her  knitting  and  sat  down 
with  Miss  Armstrong  in  the  wide  hall,  which  was 
much  used  as  a  summer  sitting-room.  "  She  is  cer- 
tainly in  a  bad  state  of  mind.  I  don't  think  Milly 
Richmond  does  her  any  good." 

"  From  the  little  I  have  seen,  I  should  not  think 
Miss  Richmond's  society  was  calculated  to  be  useful 
to  any  one,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  She  did  me 
the  favor  to  come  to  school  as  a  visitor  one  afternoon 


NEW  PROJECTS.  21? 

last  week,  and  certainly  I  never  wish  to  have  her 
visit  repeated.  It  seems  to  me  that  poor  Selina's 
great  stumbling-block  is  her  disposition  to  jealousy." 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  great  trouble,  and  always  has 
been,"  replied  Mrs.  Weston,  sighing. 

"  It  is  a  hard  fault  to  deal  with,  because  the  person 
possessing  it  is  so  apt  to  take  it  for  a  virtue,  or  at 
least  a  mark  of  superiority,"  said  Miss  Armstrong. 
"  However,  it  is  a  comfort  that  grace  can  conquer 
that  as  well  as  every  other  infirmity." 

"  I  hoped  that  Selina  was  coming  under  the  power 
of  religion,"  said  Mrs.  Weston. 

"  And  so  did  I.  The  first  week  or  two  after  I 
came,  she  seemed  much  interested  in  the  Bible  les- 
sons, and  talked  quite  freely  on  the  subject ;  but 
latterly  I  cannot  get  her  to  speak  a  word,  and  hardly 
to  answer  a  question." 

"Sometimes  I  think  she  is  resisting  conviction, 
and  that  makes  her  more  irritable  than  she  would 
be,"  remarked  Mrs.  Weston.  "  How  does  she  be- 
have in  school  in  other  ways  ?  " 

"  I  see  an  unfavorable  change  there,  too,"  answered 
Miss  Armstrong.  "  The  first  week  she  was  a  great 
help  to  me.  I  cannot  say  as  much  now." 

"  She  is  at  a  trying  age,"  said  Mrs.  Weston,  using 
the  universal  mother's  excuse,  which  suits  all  ages 
from  one  to  twenty-one.  "  Sometimes  I  think  the 
fault  must  be  in  my  management,  and  yet  I  don't 
know.  I  have  never  made  any  difference  between 
her  and  Lizzy,  and  Lizzy  never  gave  me  an  hour's 
anxiety  in  her  life  except  from  illness.  I  hear  that 
Agnes  Gleason  means  to  be  confirmed." 


2l8          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"Yes,  she  has  quite  decided  to  take  the  first  oppor- 
tunity. Her  mother  seems  very  much  pleased." 

"I  was  a  little  surprised  when  she  said  as  much  to 
me  on  Sunday,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "  Mrs.  Gleason 
has  never  made  any  profession  of  religion.  We 
thought  she  would  do  so  when  my  sister  and  myself 
united  with  the  church,  and  I  dare  say  she  would  if 
her  own  mother  had  been  alive.  But  she  was  board- 
ing with  Aunt  Betsy  at  that  time,  and  she  held  the 
child  back.  I  think  it  was  a  great  mistake." 

"  I  believe  it  is  a  mistake  in  ninety-nine  cases  out 
of  a  hundred." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you.    Who  is  this  coming  in  ?" 

"  It  is  Ida  Van  Zandt  and  her  cousin,"  said  Miss 
Armstrong,  rising.  "  You  will  like  these  girls,  Mrs. 
Weston.  They  are  as  thoroughly  genuine  as  any  I 
ever  knew." 

Mrs.  Weston  was  quite  prepared  to  like  her  young 
neighbors.  She  went  to  call  Selina ;  but  Selina  had 
gone  to  bed,  and  pretended  to  be  asleep.  The  girls 
had  two  errands  besides  their  desire  to  see  Miss 
Armstrong.  One  was,  to  procure  some  guinea-hens' 
eggs.  Amity  had  heard  that  Mrs.  Weston  had  a 
very  superior  breed  of  guinea-hens,  and  she  wanted 
to  send  some  home  to  her  grandfather,  who  was  a 
great  fowl-fancier. 

"  You  had  better  let  me  give  you  a  pair  of  the 
fowls  when  you  go  home.  That  will  be  the  best 
way,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "  Eggs  are  rather  uncer- 
tain, but  I  can  let  you  have  some  to  eat  if  you  think 
your  aunt  would  fancy  them.  They  are  very  deli- 
cate." 


NEW  PROJECTS.  2 19 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Amity.  "I  shall 
be  glad  of  any  thing  to  tempt  aunt  Barbara's  appe- 
tite, for  she  is  not  very  well  just  now.  But,  Mrs. 
Weston,  I  did  not  mean  to  beg  your  beautiful  fowls." 

"  Oh,  you  are  quite  welcome.  We  should  not  keep 
them,  and  I  am  just  so  silly  I  would  rather  give  the 
poor  things  away  than  have  them  killed,  I  have  made 
such  pets  of  them." 

"  I  don't  think  it  silly  at  all.  I  have  just  the  same 
feeling,"  said  Amity.  "  But  if  you  please,  Mrs. 
Weston,  we  will  make  it  an  exchange ;  I  see  you  keep 
ducks,  and  I  will  have  O'Connor  send  you  a  pair  of 
our  new  Pekin  ducks.  They  are  the  present  rage  in 
our  parts. — And  now  for  your  errand,  Ida,"  said 
Amity  when  these  matters  had  been  satisfactorily 
settled. 

"  Oh,"  said  Ida,  blushing.  "  Perhaps  I  ought  to 
begin  with  an  apology  for  'assumacy,' as  old  Alice 
calls  it.  It  has  occurred  to  me,  Miss  Armstrong, 
that,  as  almost  all  the  children  seem  to  come  to  the 
Friday-evening  service,  it  would  be  rather  a  nice 
thing  to  meet  them  some  time  during  the  week  and 
practise  upon  the  hymns.  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"I  think  it  an  excellent  plan,"  answered  Miss 
Armstrong.  "  I  have  been  regretting,  ever  since  I 
came  here,  that  I  cannot  sing.  I  suppose  you  mean 
to  teach  the  class  yourself,  Ida  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes  :  I  am  to  be  professor." 

"  I  proposed  something  of  the  sort  to  Selina,"  said 
Miss  Armstrong,  turning  to  Mrs.  Weston  ;  "but  she 
seemed  to  think  it  would  not  do." 

"  I  don't  see  any  objection  to  it,"  said  Mrs.  West- 


22O          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

on  ;  "  that  is,  supposing  Miss  Van  Zandt  is  willing 
to  take  the  trouble." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  like  it,"  answered  Ida.  "  I  do  think 
I  have  some  gift  that  way,  too,  though  I  say  it  that 
shouldn't.  I  have  taught  singing  in  our  mission 
school  for  two  winters  ;  and  really  they  do  very  well, 
don't  they,  Amity?  " 

"  Indeed  they  do ;  but  I  fancy  you  will  find  it 
rather  different  teaching  Miss  Armstrong's  children." 

"I  should  imagine  so,"  said  Ida,  laughing.  "I 
heard  a  lady  on  Sunday  talking  about  those  little 
Irish  children  in  the  infant-class,  and  saying  they 
ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  come  in  such  a  state. 
I  wondered  what  she  would  say  to  your  infants, 
Amity." 

"  Oh,  my  infants  are  not  so  bad.  Even  the  Flynns 
come  with  clean  faces  now  and  then.  Norah  had  a 
patch  on  her  dress  the  last  Sunday,  and  actually 
a  clean  apron." 

"Mrs.  Weston  opens  her  eyes,"  said  Ida. 

"  Oh,  I  have  seen  mission  schools,  though  I  never 
taught  in  one,"  said  Mrs.  Weston,  smiling.  "  I  should 
think  it  might  be  trying  work  sometimes." 

"  Well,  it  is  ;  and  yet  it  has  its  rewards  too." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Weston  ? "  asked  Miss  Armstrong. 
"  We  must  have  his  sanction  before  we  do  any  thing." 

"  What  a  lovely  woman  !  "  said  Ida  as  Mrs.  Weston 
went  out  to  call  her  husband.  "  Is  she  as  sweet  as 
she  looks  ? " 

"  Sweeter,  if  any  thing." 

"  Her  daughter  does  not  look  at  all  like  her,"  said 
Amity.  "  She  is  a  handsome  girl,  too  ;  but  she  has  a 


NEW  PROJECTS.  221 

discontented,  almost  envious  expression.  She  has  a 
fine  voice  :  I  noticed  it  on  S"nday." 

"  Yes,  I  think  she  would  sing  uncommonly  well  if 
she  would  take  more  pains.  Mr.  Weston  is  as  good 
as  his  wife.  I  never  met  two  more  excellent  people." 

"Is  Selina  the  only  child?" 

"  No,  they  have  a  married  daughter  in  Oldbury,  — 
a  very  lovely  woman  in  all  respects.  Both  she  and 
Selina  are  adopted  children  ;  and  they  had  another,  a 
very  fine  young  man,  who  died  a  year  or  two  since. 
They  have  had  several  children  of  their  own,  who  all 
died  in  infancy.  Here  comes  Mr.  Weston.  You 
must  sing  for  him,  Ida:  he  loves  music,  and  under- 
stands it  too." 

Mr.  Weston  listened  attentively  while  Ida  unfolded 
her  plan,  which  was  to  meet  the  school-children  twice 
a  week,  and  sing  with  them  the  hymns  and  tunes 
used  in  Sunday  school  and  at  the  Bible  class,  and 
any  other  music  which  might  be  deemed  desirable. 

"  It  seems  a  very  nice  plan,"  said  Mr.  Weston, 
"  but  it  is  a  good  deal  for  you  to  do." 

"  I  shall  enjoy  it,"  said  Ida.  I  love  children,  and 
the  practice  will  keep  my  hand  in.  Of  course  I  shall 
not  give  them  much  instruction  in  the  theory  of 
music,  but  perhaps  they  may  learn  to  read  notes.  I 
think  children  pick  that  up  pretty  easily." 

"Well,  Miss  Van  Zandt,  I  will  talk  it  over  with 
the  other  trustees,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "I  can't  think 
any  one  will  object,  but  there  is  no  telling.  I  expect 
we  are  going  to  have  a  fight  over  the  Bible-reading 
at  the  next  school-meeting.  Phin  Mallory  says  he 
means  to  put  a  stop  to  it ;  and  like  as  not  Tom  Jews- 


222          OLDHAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

bury  will  support  him,  just  to  show  off  what  he  calls 
his  liberal  ideas." 

"  If  they  turn  the  Bible  out,  they  will  turn  me 
out,"  said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  I  will  never  teach  in 
any  school  where  the  Bible  is  shut  out." 

"  Oh,  they  won't  succeed,  —  we  have  not  many  of 
that  sort,  —  but  they  will  make  a  fuss." 

"  Perhaps  it  will  be  better  not  to  have  any  con- 
nection between  the  singing-school  and  the  day- 
school,"  remarked  Amity.  "  Ida  might  just  ask 
for  the  loan  of  the  schoolhouse  for  her  class  to 
meet  in." 

"  And  I  will  have  it  directly  after  school,  because 
then  the  children  are  together,  and  it  is  the  most 
convenient  hour  for  me,"  said  Ida.  "Yes,  that  will 
be  best." 

44  People  will  be  asking  what  your  terms  are,"  said 
Mr.  Weston,  smiling. 

"  But  I  haven't  any  terms,"  said  Ida.  "  I  don't 
propose  to  ask  any  thing,  Mr.  Weston.  It  is  just  be- 
cause I  like  children,  and  because  it  is  so  nice  for 
them  to  know  how  to  sing." 

"Well,  I  will  let  you  know  in  a  day  or  two.  Mean- 
while, perhaps  you  will  sing  something  for  me."  Ida 
complied  at  once,  and  sang  song  after  song,  grave  and 
gay.  She  had  a  noble  voice  which  had  received  every 
advantage  of  cultivation,  and  had  not  been  spoiled 
thereby. 

"  That  is  grand  !  "  said  Mr.  Weston.  "  I'll  tell  you 
what,  mother,  if  any  one  makes  an  objection,  we'll 
just  ask  Miss  Van  Zandt  to  come  in  and  sing  for 
them." 


NEW  PROJECTS.  22$ 

"One  thing  more,"  said  Miss  Armstrong;  "that 
is,  if  you  are  not  tired,  Ida." 

"Not  at  all.     I  am  never  tired  of  singing." 

"Then  sing  '  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth.' ' 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  do  it  justice,"  said  Ida: 
"I  have  not  tried  it  in  some  time.  But  I  will  do 
my  best." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  that  most 
beautiful  of  all  sacred  songs  was  concluded,  and  then 
Mr.  Weston  and  his  wife  both  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  That  is  wonderful  !  "  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "  How 
I  wish  Selina  could  sing  that !  " 

"  I  dare  say  she  could  learn,"  replied  Ida.  "  She 
has  a  fine  voice.  I  noticed  it  in  church.  It  is  a  pity 
it  should  not  be  cultivated." 

"  I  have  always  meant  Selina  should  have  some 
good  singing-lessons,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "  I  have 
thought  of  sending  her  to  her  sister's  in  Oldbury. 
They  have  an  excellent  professor  in  the  school  there, 
or  so  I  have  been  told." 

"  Really,  Ida,  we  must  go,"  said  Amity  :  ."  it  is 
growing  dark.  Aunt  Barbara  will  think  we  are  lost." 

"  I  will  walk  with  you,  if  you  will  allow  me,"  said 
Mr.  Weston.  "  I  was  going  over  to  the  Corners,  at 
any  rate,  and  your  house  is  but  a  few  steps  out  of 
my  way." 

"  What  charming  girls ! "  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "  Miss 
Bogardus's  money  does  not  seem  to  have  spoiled  her." 

"  Not  a  bit.  She  is  one  of  the  hardest-working, 
most  self-denying  girls  I  ever  knew.  Ida  is  a  good 
child  too." 

"  It  shows  that  wealth  and  beauty  do  not  of  them- 


224          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

selves  hurt  people.  I  hope  this  singing-school  may 
be  a  success,  for  Selina's  sake,"  said  Mrs.  Weston. 

But  Selina  had  already  made  up  her  mind  on  that 
point.  She  had  been  waked  by  the  singing,  and  had 
been  listening  with  all  her  ears.  Envy  and  jealousy 
are  reptiles  that  can  find  food  anywhere, — even  in 
heaven,  if  they  could  get  there. 

"  Her  voice  isn't  one  bit  better  than  mine,"  Selina 
said  to  herself :  "  it  is  only  that  she  has  had  such 
good  lessons.  I  don't  think  she  sings  so  much  bet- 
ter, either.  I  don't  see  what  call  she  has  to  be 
setting  up  a  singing-school  here.  We  don't  want  any 
of  her  patronage."  And  Selina  resolved,  that,  if  she 
could  help  it,  the  singing-school  should  not  be  a 
success. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

HARMONY   AND    DISCORD. 

THE  trustees  made  no  objection  to  the  singing- 
school  ;  and  in  two  or  three  days  Miss  Armstrong 
announced  that  Miss  Van  Zandt  would  meet  after 
school  such  of  the  children  as  would  like  to  learn  to 
sing. 

"  Any  of  us  ?  little  ones  and  all  ? "  asked  Ednah 
Fletcher. 

"  Little  ones  and  all ;  every  one  who  would  like 
to  learn  to  sing  nicely  in  church  and  Sunday  school. 
Miss  Van  Zandt  is  very  kind  to  give  up  so  much  time 
to  you,  and  I  hope  you  will  reward  her  by  being  very 
good  and  attentive." 

"  I  am  sure  I  will,"  said  Kit.  "  I  think  she  is 
awful  good." 

"Yes,  very  kind  indeed,"  said  Selina  when  school 
was  dismissed.  "  For  my  part,  I  am  not  so  fond  of 
being  patronized  by  city  people." 

"  If  city  people  want  to  do  me  a  kindness,  I  am 
willing  they  should,"  said  Faith. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Selina.     "I  don't 

think  we  were  quite  ignorant  heathen  before  Miss 

225 


226          OLDHAM ' ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

Armstrong  and  Miss  Van  Zandt  came  here,  though 
one  would  think  so  to  hear  them  talk." 

"  Why,  what  do  they  say  ?  "  asked  Lucinda  Hurd. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Van  Zandt  says  she  is  used  to  teaching 
in  mission  schools,  and  wants  to  keep  her  hand  in ; 
and  Miss  Armstrong  says  she  would  not  teach  here 
at  all  if  it  were  not  for  teaching  the  Bible." 

Faith  and  Agnes  exchanged  a  glance  which  an- 
noyed Selina.  It  seemed  as  if  they  were  laughing 
at  her. 

"Where  did  you  hear  all  this?"  asked  Sarah. 
Selina  thought  there  was  some  incredulity  in  the 
tone,  and  she  answered  positively,  — 

"I  heard  her  in  our  house,  the  very  night  Miss 
Van  Zandt  came  there  to  talk  about  this  singing- 
school  concern." 

"  Oh,"  said  Sarah  demurely.  "  I  thought  I  heard 
somebody  delivering  a  lecture  to  Agnes  on  Sunday 
about  repeating  what  was  said  in  her  mother's  house, 
that  was  all." 

Selina  colored  scarlet,  and  wished  she  had  held 
her  tongue. 

"If  you  have  such  a  dislike  to  being  patronized 
by  city  people,  I  wonder  you  should  care  to  go  so 
much  with  Milly  Richmond,"  continued  Sarah.  "  She 
is  patronizing.  I  could  hardly  help  laughing  at  the 
tone  in  which  she  talked  to  Miss  Armstrong  about 
her  little  country  seminary  and  her  'little  rustics.' ' 

"  What  is  '  patronizing '  ?"  asked  Kit,  who  had  been 
listening  to  the  conversation  with  wide-open  eyes. 

"  '  Patronizing/  little  one  ?  Why,  I  hardly  know 
how  to  define  it,"  said  Sarah.  "  It  really  means,  to 


HARMONY  AND  DISCORD.  22/ 

defend  or  support ;  but  I  suppose,  as  Selina  uses 
it,  it  means  to  do  good  to  any  one  in  a  condescend- 
ing way,  as  if  you  were  a  great  deal  better  than 
they." 

"Then  I  am  sure  Miss  Van  Zandt  is  not  a  bit 
patronizing,"  said  Kit  eagerly.  "She  doesn't  put 
on  one  bit  of  airs." 

"  Pray,  what  do  you  know  about  it  ?  "  asked  Selina. 
"  Where  have  you  seen  Miss  Van  Zandt,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?" 

The  tone  was  rude  enough  to  bring  the  color  to 
Kit's  face  ;  but  she  answered  quietly,  — 

"  I  have  seen  her  two  or  three  times.  She  and 
Miss  Bogardus  have  been  very  kind  to  me.  They 
gave  me  my  Testament  and  my  hymn-book." 

"  Well,  I  must  say  I  agree  with  Selina,"  said 
Lucinda  Hurd.  "  I  don't  want  any  stuck-up  city- 
folks  coming  and  doing  good  to  me." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  are  in  any  danger  of  being 
done  good  to,"  said  Sarah.  "  For  my  part,  I  mean 
to  learn  all  I  can.  Miss  Van  Zandt  does  sing  splen- 
didly." 

"  Ezra  says  he  never  heard  such  a  voice  in  his 
life,"  said  Faith  Fletcher.  Now,  Ezra  Fletcher  was 
a  college  senior,  and  a  great  personage  in  the  red- 
schoolhouse  district. 

"  Oh,  very  well ;  go  and  be  patronized  if  you 
like,"  said  Selina.  "  I  shall  not,  that's  all." 

"  Selina,  are  you  ever  coming  home  ?  "  asked  Milly 
Richmond,  appearing  round  the  turn  of  the  road  just 
by  the  schoolhouse.  "  I  have  been  waiting  for  you 
half  an  hour  at  least,"  she  added,  putting  her  arm 


228          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

through  Selina's,  with  a  condescending  nod  to  the 
rest  of  the  girls  as  she  walked  away. 

"  There's  distinguished  city  breeding  for  you,"  said 
Sarah. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  calling  it  city  breeding  ? " 
asked  Agnes :  "  it  is  no  more  city  than  country. 
One  sees  underbred  people  everywhere." 

"  City-folks  always  are  stuck  up,  anyway,"  said 
Lucinda.  "  They  always  look  down  on  country-folks." 

"  I  don't  think  so.  Dr.  Madison  did  not  talk  to  us 
in  Sunday  school  as  though  he  looked  down  on  us." 

"  Not  half  as  much  as  Mr.  Martin  used  to,"  ob- 
served one  of  the  girls.  "  It  used  to  make  me  sick 
to  hear  him  begin,  'Now,  my  dear  children,'  and 
then  go  on  to  talk  baby-talk  for  half  an  hour.  I  just 
hated  to  go.  Dr.  Madison  talks  sense,  and  so  did 
Mr.  Brace  when  he  was  here.  And  Mr.  Martin  was 
no  such  great  man  :  his  father  used  to  keep  a  little 
candy-shop  over  in  Oldfield  when  my  mother  went 
to  school  there." 

"  It  is  nothing  against  Mr.  Martin  if  he  did,"  said 
Sarah.  "Keeping  a  candy-shop  is  an  honest  trade." 

"  It  is  a  sweet  trade  anyhow,"  said  Faith.  "  I 
should  like  to  keep  a  candy-shop  myself,  and  then  I 
could  have  all  the  candy  I  wanted." 

"  But,  suppose  it  wasn't  an  honest  trade,  would 
that  be  any  thing  against  Mr.  Martin  ? "  asked  Kit. 
"  He  wouldn't  be  to  blame  for  what  his  father  did, 
would  he  ? " 

"  Well,  no,  I  suppose  not,"  answered  Faith  rather 
doubtfully ;  "  but  people  think  a  great  deal  of  family 
about  here." 


HARMONY  AND   DISCORD.  22Q 

"  Of  course  he  would  not,"  said  Sarah  decidedly. 
"  If  a  man  is  good,  he  is  good,  and  if  he  is  bad,  he 
is  bad,  whatever  his  father  was.  Mr.  Martin  was  a 
good  man,  but  he  was  no  hand  to  manage  a  Sunday 
school." 

"  If  I  could  go  to  Sunday  school,  I  don't  think  I 
should  care  very  much  who  managed  it,"  said  Kit 
sadly. 

"  Can't  you  ?  "  asked  Eddy. 

"  No :  uncle  Phin  won't  let  me.  I  couldn't  help 
crying  last  Sunday  when  I  sat  up  on  the  hill,  and 
watched  the  children  coming  out  with  their  books." 

"Think  of  that,  Eddy,"  said  Faith.  "Somebody  I 
know  cried  last  Sunday  for  a  very  different  reason 
from  that." 

Eddy  blushed  at  the  recollection,  and  made  up  her 
mind  that  she  would  never  quarrel  with  her  Sunday- 
school  lesson  again. 

"  You  will  come  to  the  singing-school,  won't  you, 
Kit  ?  "  said  Sarah. 

"  Yes,  if  they  will  let  me.  I  think  it  is  lovely  in 
Miss  Van  Zandt  to  teach  us,  don't  you  ? " 

"  I  think  it  is  very  nice  of  her.  Good-night,  little 
one."  As  she  kissed  Kit  she  added,  "  Don't  be 
down-hearted,  Kit ;  I  hope  better  times  will  come  for 
you  by  and  by." 

"  Won't  you  please  ask  God  to  let  me  go,  Sarah  ? " 
whispered  Kit  as  she  returned  Sarah's  kiss. 

"You  love  Him,  don't  you?"  said  Sarah. 

"Yes;  and  I  love  you  too,"  answered  Kit,  "you 
are  so  kind  to  me." 

"  It  would  be  a  hard-hearted  creature  that  could  be 


23O          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

any  thing  but  kind  to  such  a  kitten  as  you.  Come 
home  with  me,  and  I  "will  give  you  some  flowers." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  "  answered  Kit  gratefully.  "Aunt 
Martha  loves  flowers  better  than  any  thing." 

"  What  were  you  all  talking  about?"  asked  Milly 
of  Selina  as  they  walked  down  the  road  together. 
"  You  seemed  wonderfully  interested." 

"About  Miss  Van  Zandt's  singing-school.  She  is 
going  to  set  up  a  singing-school  for  the  enlighten- 
ment of  us  ignorant  savages  here  in  the  country." 

"  A  singing-school !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Selina  told  the  story,  adding,  "  But  I  am  not  go- 
ing, I  can  tell  her.  I  don't  want  any  of  her  patron- 
age." 

"I  think  you  will  be  very  silly  if  you  don't,"  was 
Milly's  unexpected  rejoinder. 

"I  don't  know  why  I  should  take  lessons  of  her," 
said  Selina.  "  I  don't  know  why  I  can't  sing  as  well 
as  Miss  Van  Zandt." 

"  Because  you  have  not  her  voice  nor  her  training," 
returned  Milly.  "  Why,  Selina,  the  idea  of  comparing 
your  singing  with  Ida  Van  Zandt's !  She  is  Signer 
A.'s  crack  pupil ;  and  I  know  Professor  G.,  who  trains 
the  Handel  Chorus  Society,  considers  hers  the  best 
female  voice  he  has.  Not  but  you  do  sing  very  well, 
considering ;  but  the  idea  of  comparing  yourself  to 
Ida  Van  Zandt!" 

Selina  had  often  admired  and  defended  Milly's 
bluntness,  which  she  called  frankness  and  sincerity ; 
but  she  did  not  find  this  same  frankness  so  pleasant 
when  it  was  applied  to  herself.  She  had  a  great 
opinion  of  her  own  powers ;  and  to  have  that  opinion 


HARMONY  AND  DISCORD.  2$l 

so  coolly  set  aside  was  almost  more  than  she  could 
bear,  even  from  Milly. 

"You  were  talking  the  other  day  of  your  voice 
making  you  independent,"  continued  Milly.  "  If  I 
thought  of  any  such  thing  as  that,  I  wou-ld  not 
lose  such  a  chance  as  this  of  singing  with  Miss 
Van  Zandt.  I  have  no  more  voice  than  a  crow, 
and  no  talent  for  music  anyway ;  but  if  I  had,  I 
would  go  down  on  my  knees  to  her  to  let  me 
come." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  going  down  on  my  knees 
to  people,"  said  Selina  loftily ;  "  I  am  not  so  fond  of 
being  patronized." 

"  I  call  that  nonsense,"  replied  Milly,  who  pos- 
sessed a  certain  common-sense  which  might  have 
made  her  a  valuable  woman  under  good  training. 
"  In  the  first  place,  nobody  wants  you  to  go  down  on 
your  knees,  or  to  be  patronized  either.  I  dare  say 
Miss  Van  Zandt  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  All 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt's  set  are  engaged  in  missions  or 
some  such  work.  Ida  teaches  in  the  St.  Timothy's 
School,  I  know,  when  she  is  in  town,  and  in  another 
in  the  country ;  and  so  does  Miss  Bogardus." 

"That  is  just  what  I  say,"  persisted  Selina.  "I 
don't  want  to  be  made  a  mission  of." 

"Anybody  might  make  a  mission  of  me  who 
would  teach  me  to  sing  like  that,"  said  Milly.  "And, 
as  to  patronage,  you  ought  to  see  how  ladies  in  so- 
ciety will  contrive  and  plan  and  scheme  to  get  invi- 
tations from  those  who  are  a  little  more  fashionable 
than  themselves.  I  believe  ma  would  not  only  go 
on  her  knees,  but  walk  on  them  across  Fifth  Avenue, 


232          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

to  get  a  card  for  Mrs.  Anderson's  Fridays  or  one 
of  Mrs.  Van  Zandt's  quiet  lunch-parties." 

"  I  call  that  downright  mean,"  said  Selina. 

"  Oh,  well,  every  one  does  it.  I  wouldn't  go  as  far 
as  some  do,  myself;  but  I  would  like  to  know  the 
Van  Zandts." 

"  How  is  Cordelia  to-day  ? "  asked  Selina,  willing 
to  turn  the  conversation. 

"She  is  about  the  same;  I  don't  think  she  is 
quite  as  well.  Mother  left  her  with  Agnes  on  Sun- 
day, and  Agnes  must  go  to  reading  the  Bible  and 
talking  pious  to  her ;  and  ever  since,  she  thinks  she 
is  going  to  die,  and  is  always  wanting  to  have  Dr. 
Madison  come  to  see  her.  Mother  won't  hear  of  it, 
though ;  and  she  was  angry  enough,  with  Agnes  for 
putting  it  into  her  head." 

"  But  if  she  should  die,  Milly,  your  mother  would 
be  sorry  she  did  not  let  her  have  her  own  way." 

"  She  isn't  going  to  die,"  said  Milly  angrily.  "  I 
believe  she  would  be  a  great  deal  better  if  she  would 
exert  herself  a  little.  Not  but  what  I  would  let  her 
have  her  own  way  in  this,  and  so  I  told  ma,"  she 
added  in  a  gentler  tone.  "  Dr.  Madison  is  a  nice  old 
gentleman,  and  I  don't  believe  he  would  hurt  her. 
But,  as  to  this  singing-school  business,  Selina,  you 
will  be  very  foolish  if  you  don't  go." 

"I  can  judge  for  myself,  I  suppose,"  said  Selina. 

"All  right;  judge  for  yourself  all  you  like.  It  is 
the  last  time  I  shall  ever  offer  you  any  advice,  you 
may  be  sure  of  that,"  returned  Milly.  "I  had  no 
idea  you  were  such  a  grand  personage,  or  I  would 
not  have  ventured  on  such  a  liberty.  Good-after- 


HARMONY  AND   DISCORD.  233 

noon,  Miss  Weston,  or  whatever  your  name  is.  I 
won't  trouble  you  any  further."  And  Milly  turned 
and  walked  away. 

Selina  was  confounded  for  the  moment.  Like 
other  passionate  people,  she  was  always  surprised 
and  aggrieved  when  any  one  else  showed  any  temper. 
To  do  Milly  justice,  such  outbreaks  were  rare  with 
her.  She  had  not  reached  home  before  she  told  her- 
self that  she  had  been  silly  to  mind  Selina's  tantrums, 
and  resolved  that  she  would  make  up  on  the  first 
opportunity.  She  forgot  that  she  had  dealt  Selina 
a  cruel  and  cowardly  blow  in  the  allusion  to  her 
name,  knowing,  as  she  did,  how  sensitive  Selina  was 
on  that  point.  Selina  stood  still  a  moment,  and  then, 
turning  round,  walked  rapidly  toward  home. 

"I  will  never  speak  to  her  again,  —  never,"  she  said 
to  herself.  "And  I  will  not  go  to  the  singing-school 
either,  if  I  can  help  it.  I  suppose,  though,  I  shall 
have  to,  or  make  a  fuss  at  home.  They  are  all  be- 
witched with  this  Ida  Van  Zandt,  and  Milly  is  as  bad 
as  the  rest.  I  wish  she  had  never  come  here." 

The  singing-school  began  prosperously  with  a  full 
attendance.  All  the  children  came ;  and  a  good 
many  grown  people  would  have  liked  to  do  so,  but 
Ida  good-naturedly  but  firmly  declined  having  any 
pupils  outsida  of  the  school. 

"  It  is  only  for  the  little  ones,"  she  explained. 
"And  I  find  they  do  their  best  when  I  have  them  by 
themselves.  Besides,  I  am  not  setting  up  for  a 
teacher :  I  am  only  practising  a  little  with  the  chil- 
dren." 

Selina  made  up  her  mind  to  attend  the  class,  partly 


234          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

because  she  could  not  contrive  any  valid  excuse  for 
not  doing  so,  and  partlybecause  on  consideration  she 
was  obliged,  however  unwillingly,  to  own  that  Milly's 
advice  was  good.  It  would  be  foolish  to  throw  away 
such  a  chance  for  improvement ;  and  moreover,  if  she 
did,  Mr.  Weston  might  make  it  a  reason  for  refusing 
to  let  her  have  singing-lessons  in  Oldbury.  As  may 
be  guessed,  she  was  not  in  a  very  good  frame  of  mind 
for  profiting  by  the  lessons,  since  her  chief  end  and 
aim  was,  to  show  that  she  could  sing  as  well  as  her 
teacher. 

To  Kit  the  singing-lessons  were  a  source  of  un- 
mixed joy.  She  had  a  real  genius  for  music,  and  a 
wonderfully  quick  ear,  which  caught  in  a  moment  all 
the  beauties  of  Ida's  style,  and  reproduced  them  in  a 
manner  quite  marvellous  to  the  other  girls. 

"  Kit  will  beat  us  all,"  cried  Faith  in  honest  admi- 
ration. "  What  a  beautiful  voice  she  has  !  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  going  to  make  a  fine  singer,"  said 
Ida.  "But  we  must  not  let  her  practise  too  much 
for  a  year  or  two,  or  she  will  hurt  her  voice.  She 
sings  with  a  great  deal  of  expression.  Now,  you 
must  all  be  very  attentive,  because  I  am  going  to 
give  you  a  lesson  on  reading  the  notes." 

Symantha  made  no  objection  to  Kit's  singing-les- 
sons, and  nothing  had  been  said  to  Phin  about  them. 
He  was-  away  in  Oldbury  a  good  deal  of  the  time, 
and  often  came  home  in  a  very  bad  humor.  Kit 
kept  out  of  his  way  at  these  times  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. She  noticed  that  Symantha's  face  began  to 
assume  the  old  anxious  expression,  which  it  had 
almost  laid  aside  for  a  few  months  past ;  and  she 


HARMONY  AND   DISCORD.  235 

shrewdly  guessed,  that,  as  she  said,  "  uncle  Phin  was 
going  wrong  again."  One  clay  she  came  home  with 
a  very  grave,  not  to  say  scared,  expression,  and  fol- 
lowed Symantha  into  the  pantry. 

"  Symantha,  do  you  remember  that  man  who  used 
to  keep  the  saloon  in  our  street  in  Goldsburg,  —  the 
one  they  said  shot  the  peddler  ? " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Symantha,  startled.  "  What  of 
him  ? " 

"  I  saw  him  this  afternoon,"  said  Kit. 

"  Impossible,  child !  He  is  in  State-prison,  and 
long  may  he  stay  there !" 

"  He  is  not  in  State-prison  now,"  persisted  Kit. 
"I  tell  you  I  saw  him  this  afternoon.  I  met  him 
down  by  the  bars,  and  he  walked  part  of  the  way 
home  with  me.  I  was  scared,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  What  did  he  say  to  you  ? " 

"  He  asked  the  nearest  way  to  Oldfield,  and  I  told 
him :  and  then  he  asked  who  lived  in  Mr.  Weston's 
house,  and  in  Mrs.  Van  Zandt's ;  and  I  told  him. 
Then  he  said  he  supposed  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  was  very 
rich,  and  I  said  I  didn't  know  any  thing  about  it. 
He  asked  if  I  had  ever  been  in  the  house,  and  I  said, 
1  No.'  Then  he  offered  me  a  quarter,  and  I  told  him 
I  didn't  take  money  from  strangers." 

"Quite  right,"  said  Symantha.  "But,  Kit,  I  think 
you  must  be  mistaken.  Are  you  sure?" 

"Quite  sure,  and  I  will  tell  you  how.  He  has 
bleached  his  hair,  and  got  white  whiskers ;  but  don't 
you  remember  one  of  his  eyes  was  of  two  colors  ? 
He  could  not  change  that,  and  I  knew  him  by  it 
directly." 


236          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

Symantha's  face  grew  dark.  "  I  thought  he  was 
out  of  the  way,  at  least,"  said  she.  "  I  wonder  what 
brings  him  here." 

"  He  said  he  was  going  to  Oldfield,  and  wanted  to 
know  the  shortest  road.  I  was  glad  when  he  walked 
on,  for  I  am  always  afraid  of  him." 

"  He  is  a  wicked  wretch,"  said  Symantha.  "  I 
have  heard  that  he  was  born  somewhere  about  here. 
Well,  don't  say  a  word,  Kit.  You  were  quite  right 
not  to  answer  his  questions." 

''I  hope  he  won't  get  hold  of  uncle  Phin,"  said 
Kit.  "  I  thought  he  would  get  out  of  his  old  ways 
when  he  came  to  this  nice  place,  and  had  the  farm 
and  all." 

"  And  so  did  I ;  but,  when  people  are  bound  to  go 
to  destruction,  they  will  go,"  said  Symantha,  with  a 
sigh  which  was  almost  a  groan. 

"  It  is  too  bad  of  uncle  Phin,  because  he  is  so  nice 
when  he  is  good,"  said  Kit.  She  paused,  and  then 
added  timidly,  "  Symantha,  why  don't  you  ask  our 
Father  in  heaven  to  make  uncle  Phin  good  ?  Don't 
you  believe  He  could  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  child ;  I  suppose  so.  Do  you  be- 
lieve it  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  do.  There  was  the  thief  on  the  cross  :  I 
read  about  him  this  morning.  And  I  know  other 
wicked  people  have  been  made  good." 

"  Well,  child,  pray  for  him,  then,  and  for  me  too, 
if  you  like.  I  am  sure  I  am  glad  if  you  take  comfort 
in  that  or  any  thing  else.  How  do  you  get  on  with 
your  singiag-school  ? " 

"  Oh,  nicely  !  "  replied  Kit  with  animation.     "  We 


HARMONY  AND   DISCORD.  237 

have  learned  *  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul,'  and  'There 
is  a  green  hill  far  away,'  and  'Onward,  Christian 
soldiers.'  That  is  splendid.  They  are  going  to  sing 
it  in  meeting  to-morrow  night,"  said  Kit  with  a  sud- 
den change  of  tone.  "  Don't  I  wish  I  could  go  !  " 

"  Don't  you  wish  you  could  go  where  ? "  asked 
Phin.  He  had  left  his  boots  at  the  door,  and  come 
quietly  in  in  his  stocking-feet,  so  that  no  one  had 
heard  him. 

"To  meeting,"  said  Kit,  rather  alarmed,  but  stand- 
ing her  ground,  and  half  hoping  her  uncle  might 
relent. 

"  Well,  you  won't  do  any  such  thing." 

"  I  don't  see  what  harm  it  would  do,"  said  Kit. 
"  If  it  is  all  nonsense,  as  you  say,  it  would  do  no 
more  hurt  than  going  to  the  circus  or  the  theatre ; 
and  you  used  to  let  me  go  there.  And  if  it  is  true"  — 

"  Hush,  Kit,"  said  Symantha. 

"  True  or  false,  you  won't  go.  And  you  are  not 
going  near  that  schoolhouse  for  any  thing  again. 
Do  you  hear  ? " 

"  Not  to  school  ?  "  faltered  Kit. 

"  No  !  "  thundered  Phin.  "  Not  to  school  nor  for 
any  thing  else.  If  you  say  another  word  I  will  take 
you  over  to  Oldbury,  and  set  you  to  drawing  beer  at 
Stillwell's.  I  was  a  fool  not  to  do  it  before." 

Kit's  own  temper  flamed  up.  "  I'll  never  draw 
beer  at  Stillwell's  nor  anywhere  else,"  said  she.  "I 
hate  the  beer,  —  it  is  that  makes  you  so  ugly,  uncle 
Phin,  —  and  I'll  never  touch  it." 

"  You  won't,  eh  ?  You  will  go  down  cellar  and 
get  me  a  glass  this  minute." 


238          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"I  won't." 

"  Father  !  "  said  Symantha  warningly,  but  Phin  was 
not  to  be  controlled.  He  had  come  home  from  Old- 
bury  vexed  at  losing  money  in  gambling,  irritated  as 
a  weak  man  always  is  at  the  slavery  to  which  he  was 
reduced  by  his  own  weakness,  and  ready  to  visit  that 
irritation  on  the  first  helpless  object  that  came  in  his 
way.  He  took  Kit  in  his  arms  despite  her  struggles  ; 
and,  carrying  her  down  stairs,  he  set  her  down,  and 
ordered  her  to  draw  the  beer.  But  Kit  was  by  this 
time  quite  beside  herself  with  rage ;  and  the  old  habit 
asserted  itself,  as  old  habits  will  with  the  best  of  us 
at  times. 

The  beer-keg  stood  on  a  table  at  quite  a  height 
from  the  floor.  With  a  volley  of  hard  words,  Kit 
seized  it,  and,  by  a  sudden  exertion  of  strength,  flung 
it  violently  to  the  ground.  The  head,  coming  in 
contact  with  a  large  stone,  was  smashed  in,  and  the 
beer  poured  out  on  the  cellar-"bottom. 

"  There's  your  beer  drawn  for  you,"  said  she. 
"Now  drink  it." 

Phin's  rage  was  something  fearful.  He  whipped 
Kit  till  her  screams  alarmed  him.  "There,  now  go 
to  bed  ;  and  don't  let  me  see  you  again  to-night," 
said  he,  releasing  her  at  last.  "  Come,  we'll  know 
who  is  to  be  master." 

Kit  crept  away  to  bed,  trembling  so  she  could 
hardly  stand.  Sorely  beaten  as  she  was,  the  pain 
was  the  least  of  her  troubles.  That  which  she  had 
most  feared  had  fallen  upon  her.  To  stay  away 
from  school,  —  that  was  the  worst.  To  have  no  Miss 
Armstrong  to  go  to  in  her  troubles  ;  to  have  no  one 


HARMONY  AND  DISCORD.  239 

to  answer  her  questions,  and  explain  to  her  what  she 
did  not  understand,  — oh,  it  was  too  dreadful  to  think 
of !  Symantha  watched  her  chance,  and  brought  the 
child  some  supper ;  but  she  could  not  eat.  Even  her 
prayers  seemed  to  bring  her  no  comfort.  She  had 
been  so  wicked  !  She  had  been  so  angry,  and  used 
such  bad  words  !  What  if  she  should  never  be  for- 
given ?  She  slept  only  in  snatches  till  the  cocks 
-began  to  crow,  and  the  light  to  shine  into  her  un- 
curtained windows.  Then  she  rose,  and  sought  her 
Testament  in  the  place  where  she  kept  it  hidden. 
As  she  read,  her  face  became  calmer,  and  she  ceased 
her  sobs.  Yes,  she  had  been  very  naughty  ;  but  He 
would  forgive  her  as  He  had  forgiven  Peter,  who 
cursed  and  swore.  Hope  was  not  all  gone,  as  she 
had  thought  the  night  before.  Her  Guardian  was  still 
in  heaven.  He  saw  and  knew  it  all.  He  would  for- 
give her,  and  take  her  part.  Kit  kneeled  and  poured 
out  her  heart  in  prayer ;  and  then,  lying  down,  she 
fell  at  last  into  a  deep,  quiet  slumber. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

KIT'S  VICTORY. 

WHEN  Kit  came  down  stairs,  she  found  breakfast 
ready,  and  her  uncle  just  come  in. 

"  Halloo  !  here's  the  saint,"  said  he  roughly. 
"  Come,  let  us  hear  some  more  of  those  pretty  words 
you  said  last  night,  —  those  nice  lessons  Miss  Arm- 
strong teaches  you  down  there." 

"  Uncle  Phin,"  said  Kit,  growing  pale,  but  speak- 
ing firmly,  "  I  never  learned  those  words  from  Miss 
Armstrong,  and  you  know  it.  I  am  sorry  I  said  them  : 
it  was  very  wicked.  And  I  am  sorry  I  struck  you." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Phin,  considerably  taken  aback. 
"And  what  about  the  beer  ?  Are  you  sorry  for  that 
too  ? " 

"No,"  answered  Kit.  "I  should  like  to  do  as 
much  for  all  the  beer-kegs  in  the  world.  You  are 
never  ugly  to  me  only  when  you  have  been  drinking 
beer." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Phin.  "There,  hold  your  tongue, 
and  eat  your  breakfast ;  but  mind,  you  are  not  gping 
to  school." 

Kit  dared  not  say  any  more.  Phin  did  not  go  to 
240 


KIT'S    VICTORY.  241 

Oldbury,  but  staid  about  the  house  doing  odd  jobs 
of  repairing,  and  waiting  upon  his  wife,  who  had 
been  very  unwell  for  several  weeks.  His  fondness 
and  tenderness  for  her  was  one  of  his  best  traits.  He 
never  spoke  harshly  to  her  in  his  worst  moments, 
and  would  take  any  amount  of  pains  to  give  her  a 
little  comfort.  Symantha  brought  out  her  basket  of 
mending,  and  asked  Kit  co  help  her  with  the  stock- 
ings ;  saying,  with  a  meaning  look,  — 

"  You  can  take  your  work  up  in  your  own  room,  if 
you  like.  I  am  going  to  clean  the  floor." 

Kit  understood,  as  well  as  if  thq  words  had  been 
spoken,  that  Symantha  meant  to  give  her  a  chance  to 
read.  She  fastened  her  door,  and,  having  despatched 
her  task  of  mending  neatly  and  quickly  (for,  thanks 
to  Symantha's  training,  she  was  an  expert  needle- 
woman), she  drew  her  precious  "Pflgrim's  Progress" 
from  its  hiding-place,  and  read  for  a  long  time. 
Then  she  got  out  her  Testament,  and  read  the  two 
last  chapters  of  St.  Luke's  Gospel.  She  was  going 
through  the  book  in  course,  wondering  and  delighted 
more  and  more  at  all  she  found  there.  Her  lively 
imagination  and  quick  sense  of  the  beautiful  gave 
reality  to  all  the  stories  ;  and  she  pondered  over  them 
as  she  walked  to  and  from  school,  or  drove  up  the 
cows  from  their  pasture,  or  helped  Symantha  with 
the  sewing.  This  morning  she  was  deeply  impressed 
with  the  story  of  the  Resurrection.  She  seemed  to 
see  it  all, — the  women  coming  to  the  sepulchre 
(something  like  the  burial-vaults  she  had  seen  in  the 
cemetery  at  St.  Louis,  she  thought)  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, while  it  was  yet  dark ;  the  visit  of  the  apostles  ; 


242          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

Mary  mourning  by  herself,  not  recognizing  her  risen 
Lord  in  the  perplexing  dusk  of  the  early  twilight, 
till  he  called  her  by  name. 

Her  meditations  were  interrupted  by  a  call  to 
dinner. 

"  Where  is  uncle  Phin  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  is  sitting  with  ma.     She  is  very  bad  to-day." 

"  I  have  not  heard  her." 

"  No,  she  has  not  spoken  at  all  ;  and  I  cannot  per- 
suade her  to  eat  a  mouthful.  —  Come,  father;  come 
to  dinner." 

The  meal  passed  almost  in  silence. 

"Let  me  wash  up  the  dishes,"  said  Kit  after  it 
was  finished.  "  You  look  so  tired  !  " 

"I  did  not  suppose  such  a  fine  lady  as  you  "are 
could  wash  dishes,"  said  Phin.  "I  dare  say  Miss 
Armstrong  never  washed  a  dish  in  her  life." 

Kit  made  no  answer.  She  was  determined  not  to 
be  provoked  again  if  she  could  help  it.  She  did  up 
the  work  neatly ;  and  then,  taking  her  hat  and  her 
book,  she  went  up  to  her  old  resting-place  on  the  hill, 
from  whence  she  could  see  the  schoolhouse.  It 
would  be  something  even  to  look  at  the  roof  which 
held  Miss  Armstrong,  and  where  had  been  passed 
the  happiest  hours  of  her  life.  She  knew  just  what 
was  going  on,  and  could  almost  see  the  larger  girls 
engaged  in  preparing  their  grammar  lesson,  and  the 
little  ones  taking  it  in  turn  to  read  their  small  tasks 
by  Miss  Armstrong's  side.  It  would  be  about  Jenny 
Hurd's  turn  now,  she  thought.  She  would  lean 
against  Miss  Armstrong.  Perhaps  Miss  Armstrong's 
arm  would  be  around  her.  What  would  she  not  give 


KIT'S    VICTORY.  243 

to  be  in  her  place  !  Jenny  did  not  like  to  come  to 
school,  and  would  rather  play  all  day ;  and  yet  Jenny 
could  have  the  privilege  from  which  she  was  shut 
out.  It  was  very  strange,  Kit  thought. 

"Anyhow,  uncle  Phin  can't  ever  take  away  from 
me  what  I  have  learned.  He  never  can  make  things 
as  they  were  before  I  knew  Miss  Armstrong ;  noth- 
ing in  the  world  can  do  that.  And  they  are  things 
which  will  last  for  ever  and  ever,"  said  Kit,  half 
aloud,  realizing  in  her  sorrow  the  truth  which  has 
come  to  so  many  other  people  in  times  of  change 
and  bereavement,  —  that  the  things  which  are  seen 
are  temporal ;  while  it  is  only  the  things  which  are 
not  to  be  seen  by  mortal  eyes,  or  handled  by  mor- 
tal hands,  that  are  real  and  eternal.  Then  another 
thought  occurred  to  Kit,  which  made  her  take  out 
her  little  Testament,  already  showing  signs  of  the 
wear  it  suffered  by  being  carried  in  her  pocket.  She 
turned  to  the  second  chapter  of  St.  Matthew's  Gos- 
pel, and  was  soon  so  deeply  engaged  in  study  that 
she  started  as  if  she  had  been  shot  when  Ida  spoke 
to  her. 

"  Why,  Kitty !  how  does  it  happen  that  you  are  not 
in  school  ? " 

"  Uncle  Phin  won't  let  me  go,"  answered  Kit,  with 
a  quivering  lip.  "  He  says  I  shall  not  go  any  more." 

"  But  that  is  a  great  pity,  when  you  were  getting 
on  so  nicely,"  said  Amity.  "  Why  did  he  say  that  ?  " 

"  He  got  angry  at  me,"  said  Kit.  "  I  was  naughty, 
I  know ;  but  I  don't  think  that  was  the  reason.  It 
was  just  because  he  was  put  out  about  something 
else.  I  was  in  hopes  he  had  forgotten  all  about  it 


244          OLDHAM ';    OR,  BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

this  morning, —  he  does  that  way  very  often,  —  but 
he  says  I  shall  never  go  there  again." 

"  We  will  hope  that  he  will  change  his  mind,  as 
you  say  he  has  done  so  before.  What  are  you  doing 
now  ? " 

"  Learning  verses  out  of  the  Testament,"  answered 
Kit.  "  I  was  thinking  that  uncle  Phin  nor  any  one 
else  could  take  away  the  things  I  had  learned.  And 
then  I  thought,  '  What  if  I  should  lose  my  Testament 
again,  or  go  where  I  couldn't  have  any  teaching  ? ' 
So  I  made  up  my  mind  to  learn  as  many  verses  as  I 
could ;  because,  don't  you  see,  nobody  can  take  away 
the  things  I  have  in  my  mind." 

Ida  and  Amity  exchanged  glances. 

"  Other  people  besides  you  have  done  that,  little 
Kitty,"  said  Amity.  "  Last  summer  I  went  to  visit  a 
mountainous  country  in  Europe,  where  live  a  brave 
and  good  people  who  for  many  hundred  years  were 
dreadfully  persecuted  on  account  of  their  religion. 
The  popes,  and  the  governors  of  that  country,  were 
determined  to  make  these  people  give  up  reading  the 
Bible,  and  worshipping  God  as  they  thought  right. 
They  wanted  them  to  become  Roman  Catholics  ; 
so  they  made  war  on  them,  and  burnt  their  houses, 
and  shut  many  of  them  up  in  prisons  and  convents, 
and  put  others  to  cruel  deaths." 

"  That  was  a  queer  way  to  make  them  like  the 
Roman-Catholic  religion,"  said  Kit. 

"  It  was  a  way  which  did  not  succeed  very  well," 
said  Amity.  "The  more  these  people  were  perse- 
cuted, the  more  closely  they  clung  to  their  own 
religion,  and  the  more  they  loved  the  Bible.  But, 


KIT'S    VICTORY.  245 

because  they  were  liable  at  any  time  to  lose  their 
books,  they  used  to  do  as  you  are  doing.  All  the 
children  were  taught  to  commit  to  memory  the  whole 
of  the  Gospels.  As  they  grew  up  they  learned  more 
and  more,  till  many  grown  men  and  women  could 
say  the  New  Testament  from  beginning  to  end. 
They  had  very  few  books  ;  and  so  the  little  children 
used  to  walk  miles  upon  miles  to  their  schools,  over 
rocks  and  mountains,  and  ice  and  snow,  through 
places  which  it  made  me  giddy  to  look  at,  in  order 
that  they  might  learn  the  Bible." 

"And  are, they  persecuted  now?"  asked  Kit. 

"  No :  they  have  their  liberty,  and  can  read  the 
gospel  as  much  as  they  like.  Now  they  are  sending 
out  missionaries  to  teach  other  people  to  read  and 
love  the  Bible." 

"  That  is  nice,"  said  Kit.  "  Miss  Armstrong  told 
us  about  the  missionaries.  I  thought  then  I  should 
like  to  be  one ;  but  I  shall  never  know  enough  to  be 
any  thing  if  I  can't  go  to  school." 

"  Oh,  you  must  not  despair,"  said  Ida.  "  I  hope 
things  will  take  a  turn  for  the  better  some  time.  See 
here,  I  want  you  to  look  at  this  picture,  and  tell  me 
if  you  ever  saw  any  one  like  it." 

Kit  took  the  photograph  Ida  offered  her,  and  re- 
garded it  long  and  earnestly. 

"  It  looks  very  much  like  aunt  Martha,  only  it  is 
younger,"  said  she.  "  I  think  she  might  have  looked 
like  that  when  she  was  a  girl." 

The  girls  exchanged  glances  again.  "  I  suppose 
nobody  sees  your  aunt,"  said  Amity. 

"Nobody  ever  comes  to  our  house,"  replied  Kit. 


246          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  Uncle  Phin  doesn't  like  to  have  them,  because  aunt 
Martha  is  afraid  of  strangers.  At  least,  he  says  that 
is  the  reason  ;  but  I  don't  really  think  so,"  she  added, 
after  a  moment's  reflection. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  she  was  not  afraid  on  the  cars,  when  we 
came  here,"  said  Kit:  "she  liked  it.  She  used  to 
look  out  of  the  window.  And  sometimes  she  would 
say  quite  sensible  things.  She  did  not  have  a  single 
bad  time  all  the  way." 

"  How  has  she  been  since  she  lived  here  ?  "  asked 
Amity. 

"  She  has  not  been  as  well.  She  has  grown  thin, 
and  coughs  at  night.  Symanlha  thinks  she  has  got 
the  consumption." 

"  And  about  her  mind  ? " 

"Well,  sometimes  she  is  better,  and  then  she  is 
worse ;  but,  on  the  whole,  she  is  worse.  She  cries 
a  great  deal,  and  some  days  she  will  not  eat  at  all. 
But  I  must  be  going,"  said  Kit,  looking  at  the  sun. 

"  One  thing  more,"  said  Amity.  "  Excuse  me  for 
asking  so  many  questions,  Kit ;  I  have  a  reason  for 
them.  Are  your  uncle  and  Symantha  kind  to  her  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  that  is  hardly  a  fair  question,  Amity," 
said  Ida. 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  are  very  kind  to  her,"  replied  Kit. 
"  Symantha  is  good  to  everybody,  and  uncle  Phin 
would  do  any  thing  in  the  world  for  aunt  Martha. 
I  never  heard  him  speak  a  hard  word  to  her,  even 
when  she  was  the  most  troublesome.  And  even 
Melissa  never  dared  to  be  cross  to  her  when  he  was  in 
the  house.  I  don't  think  uncle  Phin  would  be  cross 


KIT'S    VICTORY.  247 

to  any  one  if  he  would  let  the  beer  alone.  When  we 
first  came  here,  before  "he  began  to  go  to  Oldbury, 
he  was  just  as  good  as  he  could  be.  But  I  must  go. 
It  must  be  nearly  five  o'clock." 

"  Yes ;  we  won't  keep  you  any  longer,"  said  Ida. 
"That  is  an  excellent  idea  of  yours,  about  learning 
the  Gospels  by  heart.  Good-night,  little  one." 

"  I  believe  that  aunt  of  hers  is  really  Kathleen 
Joyce,"  said  Amity  as  she  and  Ida  turned  homeward. 

"  So  do  I.  And  I  believe,  moreover,  that  she  is 
the  child's  mother.  I  do  wish  aunt  Barbara  could 
see  her;  but  I  don't  know  what  excuse  she  could 
make  for  forcing  herself  in,  especially  as  we  have  no 
proof  that  the  poor  thing  is  ill-treated." 

"  Miss  Celia  says  she  screams  dreadfully  at  times, 
and  that  the  neighbors  have  talked  of  interfering," 
remarked  Amity.  "  If  they  should,  something  might 
be  done.  At  any  rate,  it  will  be  a  comfort  to  aunt 
Barbara  to  know  that  the  poor  thing  is  kindly 
treated." 

As  Kit  came  down  the  hill  behind  her  uncle's 
house,  she  stopped  and  listened  as  the  sound  of  wild 
and  piercing  screams,  poured  forth  in  quick  succes- 
sion, fell  on  her  ear. 

"Aunt  Martha  is  bad  again,"  she  thought;  and, 
quickening  her  steps,  she  reached  the  house,  and 
entered  her  aunt's  bedroom.  The  poor  woman  was 
sitting  up  in  bed,  uttering  scream  upon  scream,  and 
making  frantic  efforts  to  escape  from  her  husband's 
arms,  and  throw  herself  on  the  floor;  while  he  and 
Symantha  strove  in  vain  to  soothe  her. 

"  What  shall  we  do  ? "  said  Phin,  glancing  at  his 


248          OLDHAM;    OR,    BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

daughter  with  a  look  almost  of  despair.  "  She  will 
hurt  herself,  and  rouse  the  neighbors  besides." 

"  Let  me  try,"  said  Kit,  unable  to  keep  quiet  any 
longer.  An  idea  had  darted  into  her  head  which 
she  longed  to  put  in  practice. 

"Well,  do,"  said  Symantha.  "You  can't  do  any 
harm.  She  is  as  bad  as  she  can  be,  now." 

Kit  seated  herself  on  the  side  of  the  bed,  and, 
without  a  word  of  what  she  was  about  to  do,  she 
began  singing,  — 

"  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul," 

to  the  tender,  pleading  music  of  the  Spanish  Hymn. 

The  poor  woman's  screams  and  struggles  ceased 
at  once.  She  leaned  back  on  her  husband's  breast, 
and  listened  li'ke  one  entranced  till  Kit  sang  the 
hymn  all  through. 

"  I  used  to  sing  that,"  said  she  when  Kit  was  silent. 
"  I  used  to  sing  a  great  many  hymns  before  they  took 
away  my  Lord.  But  they  have  taken  Him  away, 
they  have  taken  Him  away ;  and  I  know  not  where 
they  have  laid  Him." 

"  Oh,  no,  aunt  Martha !  "  said  Kit  cheerfully. 
"They  haven't  taken  Him  away:  nobody  could  do 
that.  You  know  Mary  thought  they  had,  but  she 
was  mistaken.  He  had  risen  from  the  dead,  and  was 
close  by  her  all  the  time,  only  it  was  so  dark  she 
couldn't  see  to  tell  who  it  was.  But  when  He  spoke 
to  her,  then  she  knew  Him." 

"  But  He  won't  speak  to  me,"  said  the  invalid. 
"  He  never  speaks  to  me  now.  Do  you  think  He 
ever  will  ? " 


KIT'S   VICTORY.  249 

"  Yes,  I  know  He  will.  I  am  going  to  read  you 
what  He  says."  And  forgetting  every  thing  in  her 
desire  to  comfort  the  sufferer,  forgetting  even  her 
fears  for  her  chiefest  treasure,  Kit  took  her  precious 
Testament  from  her  pocket ;  and,  opening  it  at  ran- 
dom, she  began  to  read  from  the  third  chapter  of  St. 
John.  Mrs.  Mallory  listened  with  evident  pleasure. 
Presently,  however,  her  eyelids  began  to  droop,  her 
fingers  ceased  to  pick  at  the  bed-clothes,  her  head 
sank  back.  She  had  fallen  into  a  quiet  slumber. 
Phin  gently  laid  her  head  on  the  pillow,  while  Sy- 
mantha  darkened  the  window.  Presently  he  went 
to  the  door,  and  beckoned  out  Kit,  who  was  still 
reading  in  subdued  tones.  Kit  obeyed,  though  she 
was  terribly  frightened  when  she  thought  of  what 
she  had  done. 

"  But  I  don't  care,"  she  said  "  I  know  it  was 
right" 

To  her  amazement,  Phin  lifted  her  in  his  arms,  and 
kissed  her. 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Kit.  You  shall  do  as  you 
like.  You  may  go  to  school,  and  to  meeting  too,  if 
you  want  to." 

"  O  uncle  Phin  !  do  you  mean  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  mean  it.  There,  child,  don't  strangle 
me,"  as  Kit  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck  in  a 
vehement  hug. 

"  And  may  I  really  go  to  meeting  and  to  Sunday 
school  ?  "  asked  Kit. 

"  I  didn't  say  any  thing  about  Sunday  school. 
However,  I  don't  care,"  said  Phin.  "  Yes,  you  may 
go,  though  I  don't  see  what  pleasure  you  find  in  it." 


250          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"Go  yourself,  and  you  will  find  out,"  said  Kit. 

"  See  here !  you  are  one  of  the  folks,  that,  when 
you  give  them  an  inch,  they  take  an  ell.  Go  to  meet- 
ing, if  you  like ;  but  don't  take  to  preaching,  yourself. 
But  see  here,  Kit ;  how  did  you  dare  get  out  that 
Testament  ?  Wasn't  you  afraid  I  would  burn  it  up, 
as  I  did  the  other  one  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  think  any  thing  about  myself,  anyway," 
answered  Kit :  "  I  only  thought  of  comforting  aunt 
Martha.  And,  you  see,  it  did  comfort  her.  You 
won't  burn  it  up,  will  you,  uncle  Phin  ? " 

"  No,  child.  Don't  be  afraid,  I  won't  hurt  your 
precious  book.  Where  did  you  get  it  ?" 

"  Miss  Van  Zandt  gave  it  to  me.  I  found  a  book 
she  lost  up  on  the  hill,  and  took  it  to  her ;  and  then 
she  gave  me  this  one." 

"All  right,"  said  Phin,  apparently  not  caring  to 
pursue  the  subject.  "There,  run  out  to  the  barn, 
and  find  my  pipe ;  I  have  left  it  out  there  some- 
where." 

"Just  to  think  that  I  can  go  to  meeting!"  said  Kit 
to  Symantha  that  night  as  she  was  helping  her  wash 
up  the  dishes.  "  It  seems  too  good  to  be  true. 
Ain't  you  glad,  Symantha  ? " 

"Yes,  child,  I  am  glad  to  have  you  take  all  the 
comfort  you  can,"  answered  Symantha  wearily. 
"There  is  none  too  much  going  in  the  world,  any- 
way ;  and  you  have  had  less  than  your  share." 

"  I  have  had  more  than  you  have,"  said  Kit.  "  I 
wish- 1  could  do  something  for  you." 

"You  do  a  great  deal  for  me.  I  don't  know  how 
I  should  live  without  you ;  and  yet,  if  I  could  get  you 


KIT'S   VICTORY.  25  I 

such  a  home  as  Selina  Western  has,  I  would  let  you 

g°." 

"Selina  is  not  contented,  though,"  said  Kit;  "at 

least,  I  think  not.  And  only  fancy,  Symantha,  she 
does  'not  like  Miss  Armstrong  and  Miss  Van  Zanclt. 
She  says  they  are  patronizing,  and  feel  above  her." 

"  And  you  don't  think  they  feel  above  you,  I  sup- 
pose ? " 

"  I  never  thought  any  thing  about  it,"  answered 
Kit.  "  Of  course  they  are  above  me.  Just  think 
how  many  things  they  know,  and  I  am  only  an  igno- 
rant little  girl.  But  I  don't  think  that  is  all  the 
trouble  with  Selina.  She  liked  Miss  Armstrong  ever 
so  much  at  first.  It  seemed  as  if  she  did  not  want 
to  have  her  speak  to  any  one  else." 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  trouble.  If  Selina  has  a  jeal- 
ous disposition,  she  will  never  be  happy  anywhere. 
There,  go  to  bed,  child.  You  have  had  a  hard  day." 

"It  has  turned  out  good,  so  I  don't  care,"  said 
Kit.  "  I  am  so  glad  I  thought  of  singing  to  aunt 
Martha ! " 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  happy  thought.  What  put  it  into 
your  head  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  unless  God  did,"  answered  Kit 
with  an  odd  kind  of  matter-of-fact  reverence.  "  But 
I  am  so  glad  I  can  go  to  school !  I  shall  feel  like 
dancing  all  the  way." 

But  Kit  did  not  go  to  school  next  morning,  after 
all.  Mrs.  Mallory  slept  late,  and  the  moment  she 
waked  she  asked  for  the  child. 

"Was  somebody  singing  to  me?  or  did  I  dream 
it?"  she  asked  of  Symantha. 


252          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"You  did  not  dream  it,"  answered  Symantha 
gently.  "Kit  was  singing  for  you." 

"  And  can  she  sing  again  ? "  asked  the  invalid 
imploringly.  "Will  she  come  and  sing  for  me  again? 
Won't  your  father  let  her  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes!  she  shall  sing  for  you  again,"  said  Phin, 
answering  for  himself.  "  Try  what  you  can  do,"  he 
said  to  Kit.  "Perhaps  you  can  coax  her  to  eat  some- 
thing. She  did  not  touch  a  bit  yesterday." 

Kit  glanced  at  the  clock  in  some  dismay.  It  was 
almost  school-time.  "He  would  want  me  to  stay  with 
aunt  Martha,  I  know,"  she  thought,  "and  I  believe 
Miss  Armstrong  would  too."  Without  a  moment's 
hesitation  she  sat  down  by  her  aunt,  and  began  to 
sing  again. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Mallory;  "you 
have  done  me  a  great  deal  of  good.  But  I  feel  very 
weak  and  faint." 

"That  is  because  you  haven't  eaten  any  thing," 
said  Kit.  "  Let  me  give  you  your  breakfast,  and 
then  I  will  read  to  you  as  I  did  yesterday.  I  will 
wash  your  face  and  hands,  and  then  you  will  feel 
more  like  eating." 

Mrs.  Mallory  submitted  to  all  Kit's  toilet  offices 
without  resistance,  and  even  with  some  show  of 
pleasure.  As  Kit  tied  on  her  cap,  she  held  her 
hand  for  a  moment. 

"Who  are  you,  little  girl?"  she  said,  gazing  wist- 
fully at  her.  "I  seem  to  remember  you." 

"  Why,  yes,  aunt  Martha :  I  am  Kit.  Don't  you 
know  Kit  ? " 

"I  don't  think  that  is  what  I  used  to  call  you," 


KIT'S    VICTORY.  253 

said  the  poor  woman,  "  but  my  mind  is  a  good  deal 
confused.  I  don't  think  I  understand  any  thing  very 
well." 

"  That  is  because  you  are  sick  and  weak,"  answered 
Kit  with  ready  tact.  "  When  you  are  better  you  will 
know  all  about  it.  See,  here  comes  Symantha  with 
the  nice  breakfast." 

Mrs.  Mallory  ate  with  some  appearance  of  appe- 
tite. "Now  sing  to  me  if  you  are  not  tired,"  said 
she. 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  tired,"  answered  Kit.  "  I  love  to 
sing."  She  sang  two  or  three  hymns,  and  then  read 
till  Mrs.  Mallory  fell  asleep  again. 

"  She  is  asleep,"  Kit  reported,  stealing  out  of  the 
room.  "And,  Symantha,  you  don't  know  how  sensi- 
bly she  talked." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  "  asked  Symantha. 

"Oh,  not  much;  only  she  asked  me  if  I  thought 
any  one  could  be  saved  who  had  denied  their  Lord. 
And  I  told  her  yes,  and  read  her  what  it  says  about 
Peter.  Then  she  tried  to  remember  a  verse ;  and  I 
found  it,  and  read  it  to  her.  It  was  about  the  blood 
of  Christ  cleansing  us  from  all  sin,  you  know." 

"  Well  ? " 

"Then  she  asked  if  I  knew  a  hymn  about  that; 
and  I  told  her  I  did,  and  sung  it  for  her.  Then  she 
whispered  to  herself  a  little  while.  I  think  she  was 
praying,"  said  Kit  with  a  look  and  tone  of  awe. 
"And  finally  she  went  to  sleep." 

"  That  does  seem  as  if  she  were  getting  better," 
said  Phin.  "  Kit,  if  she  does,  there  is  nothing  I 
won't  do  for  you." 


254          OLD  If  AM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

Symantha  shook  her  head  sadly.  "  Her  mind  may 
get  better,  but  her  body  won't,"  said  she.  "  Can't 
you  see  how  it  is,  father?" 

"  You  think  it  is  the  lighting-up  for  death  ?" 

"  I  think  so,"  said  Symantha ;  "  and  I  don't  know 
that  we  ought  to  wish  it  otherwise,  if  she  dies 
happy." 

Phin  sighed  deeply.  "Well,  no,  I  suppose  not; 
but  this  world  will  be  an  empty  place  when  she  is 
gone.  Symantha,  I  haven't  been  a  good  father  to 
you,  I  haven't  been  good  at  any  thing  that  I  know 
of ;  but  I  do  thank  you  for  your  kindness  and  pa- 
tience with  that  poor  thing." 

"  Then,  if  I  have  done  any  thing  for  her,  do  some- 
thing for  me,"  said  Symantha:  "stay  away  from 
Oldbury,  and  let  the  drink  alone." 

Phin  shook  his  head,  but  he  said  no  more ;  nor  did 
Symantha  pursue  the  subject  any  further. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MISS   VAN   ZANDT. 

GREAT  was  the  amazement  of  all  the  school-girls 
to  see  Kit,  neatly  dressed,  and  book  in  hand,  walk 
into  the  schoolhouse  Friday  evening,  and  seat  herself 
among  the  children. 

"There  is  Kit,"  whispered  Ruth  to  Selina.  "1 
wonder  if  she  has  run  away." 

"  I  dare  say  she  has.  I  know  she  said  her  uncle 
would  not  let  her  come." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,  I  believe  in  children  doing  as 
they  are  told,  about  going  to  meeting  or  any  thing 
else.  I  wonder  why  she  has  not  been  in  school." 

"  Her  aunt  is  worse,"  replied  Selina.  "  Dr.  Chase 
went  up  to  see  her  this  morning.  He  told  father 
she  was  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption." 

Never  had  the  Friday-evening  services  in  the  red- 
schoolhouse  district  been  so  well  attended  as  they 
were  this  summer.  Perhaps  this  increased  attend- 
ance might  be  partly  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  red 
schoolhouse  had  never  before  been  so  comfortable. 
Certainly  it  was  much  more  agreeable  to  spend  an 
hour  in  a  clean,  well-aired,  cool  room,  fresh  and 

255 


256          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

fragrant  with  the  smell  of  flowers  and  green  leaves, 
than  to  pass  the  same  time  in  a  hot,  fusty  apartment, 
unventilated  since  the  afternoon  school  session,  with 
air  heavy  enough  to  have  put  hundred-eyed  Argus 
asleep.  Miss  Van  Zandt's  singing  might  also  be  an 
attraction.  But  I  am  inclined  to  think  there  was 
more  in  the  case  than  either,  and  that  a  gracious 
influence  was  stirring  the  air,  not  only  in  the  red- 
schoolhouse  district,  but  in  the  whole  parish  of  Old- 
ham. 

Kit  had  counted  on  a  word  with  Miss  Armstrong 
either  before  or  after  the  meeting,  but  neither  she  nor 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt  was  present.  Mr.  Bassett  opened 
the  service,  as  usual,  with  a  hymn  :  and  some  of  the 
elder  people  smiled  at  the  earnestness  with  which 
the  children  joined  in  the  singing ;  and  more  than 
one  turned  to  look  at  Kit,  whose  voice  sounded  out 
beautifully  clear  and  full  of  expression. 

"Did  you  ever!"  whispered  Ruth.  "Who  ever 
would  have  guessed  that  poor  child  had  such  a 
voice  ? " 

Selina  did  not  answer,  but  her  face  wore  any  thing 
but  a  pleased  expression.  The  service  went  on  as 
usual,  except  that  more  people  spoke,  and  almost 
every  one  of  the  children  had  a  text,  or  a  verse  from 
some  favorite  hymn.  Miss  Celia  made  a  few  re- 
marks, m  her  silvery,  tremulous  voice.  They  were 
very  simple.  She  said  she  had  been  young,  and  now 
was  old ;  she  had  passed  through  many  severe  trials, 
some  of  which  were  well  known  to  her  friends,  and 
others  only  to  her  heavenly  Father :  but  she  wished 
to  say  that  in  all  of  them  she  had  been  helped  and 


M/SS   VAN  ZANDT. 


comforted  by  Divine  Love.  It  was  a  support  which 
had  never  failed  her.  She  had  enjoyed  it  all  -her  life, 
and  she  hoped  the  dear  children  and  young  people 
present  might  be  as  happy  in  this  respect  as  she  had 
been. 

That  was  all  she  said.  It  was  commonplace 
enough,  if  such  a  subject  can  ever  be  commonplace  ; 
but  it  was  spoken  with  an  expression  of  inward  con- 
viction which  sent  it  home  to  almost  every  heart 
present. 

"Are  there  any  more  remarks  ?"  asked  Mr.  Bas- 
sett.  There  was  a  short  silence-;  and  then  a  clear 
little  voice  sounded  from  the  low  bench  in  front, 
where  the  little  children  sat  :  — 

"  Please,  Mr.  Bassett,  will  you  ask  the  people  to 
pray  for  aunt  Martha,  because  she  is  very  sick,  and 
the  doctor  says  she  won't  live  but  a  little  while." 

Everybody  looked  round  in  surprise.  Kit  had 
risen  to  her  feet  in  her  earnestness,  and  stood  with 
her  shining  eyes  fixed  on  the  good  miller's  face,  while 
the  carnation  color  mantled  beautifully  in  her  cheeks. 
More  than  one  mother  felt  the  tears  very  near  her 
eyes  as  they  rested  on  the  poor  little  motherless 
child,  who  stood  so  evidently  thinking  of  nothing  but 
the  request  she  had  made  ;  and  more  than  one  prayer 
went  up  then  and  there  on  her  behalf  and  that  of  the 
invalid. 

There  was  the  usual  little  pause  for  neighborly 
chat  when  the  service  was  over. 

"  Why,  Kit  !  how  did  you  come  here  ?  "  asked 
Sarah. 

"Uncle  Phin  let  me  come,"  answered  Kit.     "And 


258          OLD II AM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

only  think,  Sarah,  he  says  I  may  go  to  Sunday 
school  !  " 

"  How  glad  I  am ! "  said  Sarah,  bending  to  kiss 
the  face  turned  to  her.  "  But  where  have  you  been 
these  two  days  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  leave  aunt  Martha.  She  is  very  sick, 
and  she  likes  to  have  me  sing  and  read  to  her." 

"  Is  she  sensible  ?  " 

"  Yes,  almost  all  the  time  now,  though  she  isn't 
quite  right.  She  thinks  I  am  her  daughter,  and  she 
can't  bear  to  have  me  away  from  her  when  she  is 
awake ;  but  she  isn't  unhappy,  as  she  used  to  be,  and 
she  prays  a  great  deal.  But,  Sarah,  I  wonder  where 
Miss  Armstrong  is.  I  thought  I  should  see  her 
this  evening." 

"  I  don't  know,  'I  am  sure.  Let  us  ask  Selina.  — 
Selina,  where  is  Miss  Armstrong?" 

"  She  has  gone  to  New  York  with  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt.  They  had  a  telegram  that  some  friend  of 
theirs  is  very  low,  —  not  expected  to  live.  Miss 
Armstrong  thought  she  could  not  go  at  first ;  but 
Miss  Van  Zandt  must  needs  off er  to  teach  the  school 
while  she  was  away,  so  she  got  ready,  and  started 
off  in  Mrs.  Van  Zandt's  carriage  to  catch  the  train 
at  Oldbury." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  should  speak  so  scornfully, 
Selina,"  said  Faith.  "  For  my  part,  I  think  it  is 
very  kind  of  Miss  Van  Zandt." 

"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  be  going  to  school  to  a  girl 
only  two  or  three  years  older  than  I  am." 

"  What  difference  does  her  age  make,  so  long  as 
she  knows  more  than  we  do  ?  "  asked  Faith  very 


M7SS    VAN  ZANDT.  259 

sensibly.  Selina  made  no  reply.  "I'll  tell  you  what 
it  is,  Selina,  you  will  end  by  hating  Miss  Van  Zandt, 
if  you  don't  mind,"  continued  Faith  earnestly.  "  I 
don't  see  how  you  can  feel  so.  What  harm  has  she 
ever  done  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  said  she  had  done  me  any  harm,"  re- 
turned Selina.  "  I  think  she  puts  herself  forward, 
and  makes  herself  ridiculous  by  taking  so  much  on 
herself;  but,  as  to  hating,  I  never  troubled  myself 
enough  about  her  to  do  that."  And  yet  Selina  did 
hate  Ida,  and  she  knew  it. 

"Where  is  Patience  to-night,  Faith?"  asked  Mrs. 
Weston. 

"  She  isn't  very  well,  and  she  had  so  much  to  do 
she  thought  she  couldn't  come.  I  wanted  her  to  let 
me  do  up  the  work,  but  she  wouldn't." 

"That  is  a  pity,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "It  would 
have  done  her  good.  —  Come,  Selina;  we  must  he 
going." 

The  children  were  early  at  the  schoalhwse  next 
morning,  eager  to  see  their  new  teacher*  whom  they 
were  all  prepared  to  like. 

"  Who  do  you  think  came  to  Bible  class  with  me 
last  night  ? "  said  Agnes  as  she  joined  the  group  of 
older  girls.  "No  less  a  person  than  Milly  Rich- 
mond." 

"  Milly  Richmond  !  "  exclaimed  Selina.  "  I  don't 
believe  it.  She  laughs  at  the  very  idea." 

"  She  came,  for  all  that.  We  sat  close  by  the 
door,  and  went  away  the  very  first  minute  we  could." 

"  But  how  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  asked  her.     You  see,  Milly  and  I  have 


260          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

never  been  very  good  friends,"  said  Agnes  with  some 
embarrassment;  "and  I  think  perhaps  I  have  been 
hard  upon  her,  so  I  have  been  trying  to  make  up. 
I  did  not  believe  she  would  come  to  the  service :  but 
I  remembered  what  Dr.  Madison  said  about  chanty 
at  home,  and  I  thought  there  would  be  no  harm  in 
trying ;  so  I  asked  her,  as  I  said,  and  she  asked  me 
if  I  really  meant  it.  '  Of  course,'  I  said  ;  and  then 
she  said,  well,  she  did  not  mind  for  once,  only  she 
would  like  to  sit  by  the  door,  because  it  was  so 
warm." 

"  How  did  she  like  it  ? "  asked  Sarah. 

"  I  asked  her,  and  she  said  she  didn't  know,  her- 
self ;  she  should  have  to  think  about  it.  And  after 
that  she  never  said  another  word  all  the  way  home." 

"  Is  it  true,  Agnes,  that  you  are  going  to  be  con- 
firmed next  time  the  Bishop  comes  ?  "  asked  Faith. 

"  Quite  true,"  answered  Agnes. 

"  I  should  think  you  were  pretty  young  to  take 
such  a  step,"  remarked  Ruth.  "Why  don't  you  wait 
till  you  are  older  ?  " 

"Why  should  I?"  asked  Agnes.  "I  am  fifteen, 
and  I  don't  think  I  shall  know  my  own  mind  any 
better  if  I  wait  till  I  am  twenty  or  forty." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  not  know  it  as  well,"  observed 
Sarah. 

"  If  you  think  it  so  nice  in  Agnes,  why  don't  you 
come  forward  yourself  ? "  asked  Selina  with  some- 
thing of  a  sneer, — an  expression  which  was  becom- 
ing so  habitual  to  her  that  it  threatened  to  spoil  her 
pretty  face. 

"I    mean  to,"  said  Sarah  briefly.     She  paused  a 


MISS   VAN  ZANDT.  26 1 

moment,  and  then  added  with  an  evident  effort,  "And, 
girls,  I  want  to  say  something:  I  want  to  ask  your 
pardon,  and  especially  yours,  Selina,  for  all  the  sharp 
and  hateful  things  I  have  said.  I  know  that  is  my 
besetting  sin,  as  Mr.  Bassett  said  last  night,  and  I 
am  going  to  try  and  do  better ;  so  I  hope  you  will  all 
forgive  me." 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement. 
Sarah  was  a  very  proud  girl,  and  such  an  acknowl- 
edgment had  a  double  force  coming  from  her. 

"  I  am  sure  I  do,  if  there  is  any  thing  to  forgive, 
though  I  never  laid  up  any  thing  against  you,"  said 
Faith.  "  You  are  so  nice  in  other  ways,  that  I  never 
minded  your  sharp  speeches." 

"And  you,  Selina?" 

"  Oh,  I  forgive  you,  of  course,  since  you  ask  me, 
though  I  do  think  you  have  treated  me  shamefully," 
said  Selina  coldly.  "  I  only  hope  your  goodness  will 
last,  that's  all."  And  Selina  turned  and  went  into 
the  schoolhouse. 

"  That's  a  queer  kind  of  forgiveness,"  said  Faith. 
"I  think  Selina  is  queer,  anyhow." 

"  Oh,  well,  never  mind,"  said  Sarah.  "  I  have 
been  aggravating  to  her,  I  know.  Here  comes  Miss 
Van  Zandt.  Doesn't  she  look  pretty  in  her  brown- 
linen  dress  and  blue  ribbons  ?  We  must  do  all  we 
can  to  help  her,  girls.  I  don't  suppose  she  has  ever 
taught  before." 

But  those  of  the  school  —  they  were  very  few  — 
who  were  inclined  to  take  liberties  with  their  young 
teacher  soon  found  that  they  had  reckoned  without 
their  host.  Miss  Van  Zandt  had  a  ready  wit  and 


262          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

a  quick  eye,  besides  a  fund  of  imperturbable  good- 
nature.  In  the  geography  class  she  delighted  the 
girls  by  her  descriptions  of  places  she  had  seen  in 
England,  and  promised  next  day  to  bring  some  photo- 
graphs of  cathedrals  and  of  natural  scenery. 

"Of  what  place  were  we  just  speaking?"  asked 
Ida,  turning  to  Selina,  who  was  making  an  elaborate 
display  of  taking  no  interest  in  the  lesson. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Selina :  "  I  was  not  listen- 
ing." 

"  Next,"  said  Miss  Van  Zandt. 

"  York,"  was  the  instant  answer ;  and  to  Selina's 
infinite  disgust,  and  the  amusement  of  the  other 
girls,  Ruth  Jewsbury  went  above  her. 

"  I  don't  think  that  is  fair,  Miss  Van  Zandt,"  said 
Selina.  "  I  knew  the  answer." 

"  I  dare  say  you  did ;  but  you  said,  yourself,  you 
were  not  paying  attention.  Next :  For  what  is  New- 
castle noted?"  And  that  was  all  Selina  gained  by 
her  manoeuvre.  When  noon-time  came,  Ida  re- 
quested the  elder  girls  to  remain  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  you,  young  ladies," 
said  she.  "  As  you  know,  I  have  taken  the  place  of 
my  friend  Miss  Armstrong  for  a  little  time,  in  order 
that  the  school  may  not  be  closed  while  she  is  away. 
I  have  not  much  experience,  at  least  in  a  day-school ; 
and  it  is  very  likely  that  I  may  make  some  mistakes. 
What  I  have  to  ask  is,  that  you  older  girls,  who  are 
the  leaders  in  the  school,  will  help  me  by  throwing 
your  influence  upon  the  side  of  law  and  order.  Lit- 
tle girls  are  apt  to  follow  the  lead  of  large  girls ;  and, 
if  the  children  see  you  desirous  to  maintain  the  char- 


MISS    VAN  ZANDT.  263 

acter  of  the  school  during  your  teacher's  absence, 
they  will  do  the  same.  Not  that  I  have  any  thing 
to  complain  of,"  she  hastened  to  add  :  "on  the  con- 
trary, you  have  all  been  very  kind  to  me." 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  could  be  any  thing  else," 
said  Sarah.  "  I  don't  think  you  will  have  any  trouble 
with  the  children,  Miss  Van  Zandt  :  they  are  good 
little  things." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  shall  have  any  trouble  with  any- 
body," said  Miss  Van  Zandt.  "  Does  any  one  know 
where  Kitty  is  ? " 

"  I  suppose  she  is  at  home," .  answered  Sarah. 
"  Her  aunt  is  very  sick.  Dr.  Chase  says  she  can 
only  live  a  few  days.  And  she  has  taken  such  a 
fancy  to  Kit,  she  cannot  bear  her  out  of  sight.  She 
thinks  Kit  is  her  daughter." 

"Poor  woman!"  said  Miss  Van  Zandt.  "Well, 
girls,  I  don't  know  that  I  have  any  more  to  say,  and 
I  am  keeping  you  from  your  dinners.  I  hope  and 
believe  that  we  shall  have  a  very  pleasant  report  to 
make  to  Miss  Armstrong  when  she  comes  home." 

"  How  long  will  she  be  gone  ? "  asked  Faith. 

"  The  time  is  uncertain,  because  it  depends  upon 
her  friend's  health,  —  probably  not  more  than  ten 
days,  possibly  two  weeks." 

"And  are  you  going  to  teach  the  school  all  that 
time?"  asked  Selina  with  an  emphasis  on  the  "you." 

"I  fully  intend  to  do  so  at  present,"  answered 
Miss  Van  Zandt,  not  in  the  least  ruffled.  "  Why  do 
you  ask  ? " 

"  Oh,  nothing  ;  only,  if  <Miss  Armstrong  is  going  to 
be  away  scflong,  I  should  suppose  the  trustees  would 


264         OLDHAM;   OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

engage  some  grown-up  person  to  take  charge  of  the 
school." 

The  girls  looked  at  each  other  in  indignant  amaze- 
ment as  Selina  gave  vent  to  this  piece  of  imperti- 
nence, but  Miss  Van  Zandt  only  smiled. 

"  How  much  taller  would  you  like  me  to  be  ? "  she 
asked,  erecting  her  beautiful  figure  to  its  full  height. 
"  If  the  trustees  get  any  one  much  more  grown  up, 
they  will  have  to  raise  the  roof  or  lower  the  floor. 
Pray,  how  old  are  you,  Selina  ? " 

"  She  is  fifteen,"  said  Agnes,  as  Selina  did  not 
answer. 

"  Exactly,  and  I  am  nineteen.  You  seem  to  feel 
tolerably  grown  up,  yourself,  I  think ;  and  so  you  see 
I  have  a  right  to  feel  four  years  more  grown  up  than 
you  are." 

"Please,  Mith  Dan  Want,  ma  says  will  'oo  tome  to 
dinner,  because  ith's  all  weady,"  said  a  small  child, 
inserting  a  curly  black  head  into  a  crack  in  the  door. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear ;  but  who  is  ma  ? "  asked 
Ida. 

"It  is  Emma  Bassett,"  said  Faith.  "What  a  shame 
of  me !  Mrs.  Bassett  called  me  this  morning,  and 
told  me  to  be  sure  to  tell  Miss  Van  Zandt  to  come 
to  dinner;  and  I  forgot  it." 

"  Well,  ith's  all  weady,"  said  the  curly  head  ;  "  and 
there's  chewy-pie." 

"  Indeed  !  Then  I  must  certainly  come,  and  some 
of  you  must  eat  the  lunch  Aggy  put  up  for  me. 
There  are  some  nice  bananas  in  the  basket,  girls, 
if  you  like  them." 

"Well,  Selina,  I  do   hope  you   feel    better,"  said 


MISS    VAN  ZANDT.  26$ 

Ruth  Jewsbury.  "You  have  made  a  nice  figure  of 
yourself,  I  must  say.  I  should  think  you  would  be 
ashamed." 

Selina  was  surprised  and  vexed ;  for  Ruth  had 
hitherto  been  somewhat  rebellious  to  Miss  Arm- 
strong, and  she  had  looked  to  her  for  support  in  her 
attempt  to  put  down  Miss  Van  Zandt. 

"  She  didn't  make  much  by  it,  anyway,"  said  Faith, 
"only  to  turn  the  laugh  on  herself." 

"  Selina,  what  does  make  you  act  so  ? "  asked 
Agnes  seriously.  "  I  should  think  you  might  be 
pleased  at  having  such  a  pleasant  young  lady  for  a 
teacher,  instead  of  some  one  like  —  Miss  Priscilla 
Davis,  for  instance." 

"Dear  me!  what  did  I  do?"  asked  Selina.  "One 
would  think  I  had  murdered  some  one,  at  the  very 
least." 

"  You  tried  to  insult  Miss  Van  Zandt,  and  only 
succeeded  in  making  yourself  ridiculous,  —  that's 
what  you  did. — Didn't  she,  girls?" 

"That  was  what  it  came  to,"  answered  Agnes, 
"  but  I  don't  think  she  will  make  much  by  it.  —  Come, 
Selina  ;  do  think  better  of  it.  I  don't  see  why  we 
should  not  have  a  very  good  time  with  Miss  Van 
Zandt,  if  we  all  turn  to  and  support  her.  I  am  sure 
nothing  could  be  nicer  than  her  ways  this  morning. 
And  how  interesting  she  made  the  geography  class!" 

"Oh,  yes,  of  course.  It  is  all  Miss  Van  Zandt 
now,  and  dear  Miss  Armstrong  is  nobody  and  no- 
where," said  Selina.  "  Last  week  you  thought  there 
was  nobody  like  Miss  Armstrong." 

"  And  I  think  so  now,"  returned  Agnes.     "  I  have 


266         OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

a  right  to,  for  she  is  the  best  friend  I  ever  had,  ex- 
cept my  mother.  I  never  could  pay  her  for  what  she 
has  done  for  me,  if  I  were  to  live  a  hundred  years. 
But  I  think  the  best  way  I  can  show  my  love  for  her 
in  her  absence  is  to  respect  and  help  her  friend  who 
has  taken  her  place." 

"  Agnes  talks  like  a  book,  and  she  is  right,"  said 
Ruth.  "  I  never  was  so  wonderfully  fond  of  Miss 
Armstrong  as  some  of  you, —  as  Selina  was  when 
she  first  came,  for  instance,  —  but  I  think  she  is  an 
excellent  teacher ;  and,  as  for  Miss  Van  Zandt,  I 
think  she  is  lovely." 

"  Yes,  because  she  let  you  go  up  in  the  geography 
class,  —  a  thing  you  never  did  before,"  retorted  Selina. 
"Oh,  well,  I  don't  propose  to  have  any  words  about 
it,"  she  added  loftily.  "  You  can  all  flatter  and  bow 
down  to  Miss  Van  Zandt  as  much  as  you  please,  for 
all  me.  I  shall  not,  that's  all." 

And  certainly  Selina  kept  her  word  by  doing  all 
in  her  power  to  make  Ida's  work  as  disagreeable  as 
possible.  Ida  tried  the  effect  of  a  gentle  remon- 
strance, but  it  did  no  good.  Selina  denied  having 
done  any  thing  wrong;  and,  when  one  instance  after 
another  of  disrespect  and  disobedience  was  brought 
home  to  her,  she  burst  into  tears,  declared  that  every 
one  was  against  her  because  she  was  an  orphan,  and 
because  she  would  not  pretend  to  be  religious.  She 
was  in  every  one's  way,  nobody  loved  her,  and  she 
wished  she  was  dead. 

Much  perplexed,  Ida  sought  a  private  interview 
with  Mrs.  Weston,  and  laid  the  case  before  her. 

"I  don't  think  I  have  been  unjust  to  Selina,"  said 


MISS    VAN  ZANDT.  267 

she.  "  She  is  the  only  one  I  have  any  trouble  with  ; 
but,  really,  she  is  so  disrespectful  that  I  do  not  know 
what  to  do  with  her." 

"  I  can  understand  it,"  said  Mrs.  Weston,  sighing. 
"  Selina  is  very  trying  when  she  takes  one  of  her 
perverse  fits,  and  I  hardly  know  how  to  manage  her 
myself.  It  is  not  fair,  however,  that  you  should  be 
troubled  with  her  ;  and  I  think  I  will  keep  her  at 
home  for  the  present." 

"  That  seems  a  pity,"  remarked  Ida.  "  Perhaps  if 
you  were  to  talk  to  her  "  — 

"  I  fear  that  would  do  no  good  •;  she  seems  only 
to  resent  it.  But  I  will  consult  her  father,  and  see 
what  he  thinks  it  best  to  do." 

The  result  of  the  consultation  was,  that  Selina 
found  herself  taken  out  of  school,  and  set  to  work 
about  the  house  and  dairy.  The  change  was  not  at 
all  to  her  taste ;  but  she  was  too  proud  to  complain, 
and  took  great  pains  to  show  that  she  did  not  care. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

MORE    CHANGES. 

KIT  had  not  been  able  to  attend  the  school  regu- 
larly since  it  had  been  'under  Ida's  administration, 
though  she  had  managed  to  slip  away  two  or  three 
times  for  an  afternoon.  Mrs.  Mallory  was  failing 
rapidly.  Dr.  Chase  came  to  see  her,  and  told  her 
friends  there  was  nothing  to  be  done. 

"  She  may  last  six  weeks,  or  she  may  drop  away 
at  any  moment,"  said  he,  in  answer  to  a  question 
from  Phin.  "  Get  her  to  take  nourishing  food  and 
the  tonic  I  have  left  her,  and  keep  her  as  quiet  as 
possible.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  her  mind 
should  clear  at  the  last.  I  am  glad  to  see  her  so 
well  taken  care  of." 

"  She  has  had  all  I  could  give  her,"  said  Phin. 
"I  don't  amount  to  much,  but  I  have  tried  to  be 
good  to  her." 

"It  is  easy  to  see  that,  by  the  way  she  confides 
in  you,"  replied  the  doctor  kindly.  "  But  I  don't  see, 
Mr.  Mallory,  why  you  should  not  amount  to  as  much 
as  any  one  in  the  county.  Why  not  ?" 

"Too  late,"  said  Phin.     "When  a  man  has  sold 
himself  to  the  devil,  he  can't  break  the  bargain." 
268 


MORE   CHANGES.  269 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  there  is  One  who  can,  and  who 
will  if  you  turn  to  Him." 

Phin  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  know,"  said  he  ; 
"sometimes  I  think  so,  but —  Well,  there!  we 
won't  talk  about  it.  It  is  too  late  for  me,  anyhow ; 
but  I'd  like  to  think  there  was  a  good  time  ahead  for 
that  poor  thing  in  there." 

"  I  believe  there  is,  as  surely  as  I  believe  in  my 
own  existence,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Well,  I  hope  so.     You  will  call  again,  doctor  ? " 

"I  will  if  you  wish  it ;  but  I  tell  you  frankly,  I  can 
do  nothing  for  her." 

It  was  a  solemn,  but,  on  the  whole,  not  an  unhappy 
time  for  Kit.  Phin  staid  at  home,  not  drinking  at  all, 
but  attending  to  his  farm-work,  and  taking  care  of 
his  wife.  As  Kit  said,  he  was  always  good-natured 
when  he  did  not  drink.  Kit  helped  Symantha  with 
the  work,  waited  on  Mrs.  Mallory,  and,  when  she  had 
a  little  time,  studied  her  school-lessons,  and  read  in 
her  Testament,  which  she  now  produced  without  fear 
in  her  uncle's  presence.  Phin  did  not  even  laugh  at 
her  ;  and  when  Melissa,  who  came  home  for  a  Sunday, 
began  her  old  fashion  of  teasing,  she  was  promptly 
silenced  by  her  father. 

"  Let  the  child  alone.  She  is  doing  the  work  you 
ought  to  be  about,  by  rights  ;  and  she  shall  read  what 
she  pleases.  Perhaps  it  would  be  all  the  better  for 
you  if  you  read  something  of  the  same  kind,  instead 
of  the  stuff  you  do." 

"  Dear  me,  how  good  we  are,  all  at  once  !  "  said 
Melissa,  with  a  toss  of  her  head  ;  but  she  did  not  ven- 
ture any  further,  knowing,  that,  if  she  came  to  an  out- 


2/0          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

and-out  contest  with  her  father,  she  was  sure  to  get 
the  worst  of  it.  She  took  her  departure  on  Monday, 
unregretted  by  any  one.  Mrs.  Mallory  was  afraid  of 
her,  and  she  and  Symantha  were  never  comfortable 
together.  The  next  week  a  letter  was  received  from 
her,  saying  that  she  was  going  to  a  place  in  New 
York ;  and  that  was  the  last  that  was  heard  of  her 
for  many  a  long  day. 

Mrs.  Mallory  failed  every  day ;  and,  as  so  often 
happens  in  such  cases,  as  her  body  decayed,  her 
mind  grew  clear  and  calm.  The  old  despairing  wail 
was  never  heard  now.  Kit  had  learned  to  watch  and 
anticipate  her  moods,  and,  as  soon  as  she  saw  the 
cloud  coming,  she  would  begin  to  sing,  or  read  in  the 
Testament  ;  and  the  remedy  was  always  successful. 
After  a  while  Kit  ventured  to  ask  the  meaning  of 
things  which  she  did  not  understand,  and  was  sur- 
prised at  the  clearness  of  the  explanations  she  received. 

"  I  do  think  aunt  Martha  is  as  sensible  as  any- 
body now,"  Kit  said  one  day  to  Symantha.  "  You 
don't  know  how  nicely  she  explained  my  Sunday- 
school  lesson  to  me.  But,  Symantha,  she  seems  to 
think  I  am  her  little  girl ;  and  she  wants  me  to  call 
her  '  mother.'  Isn't  it  funny  ?  Did  she  ever  have  a 
little  girl  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  had  a  child  who  would  have  been  about 
your  age,"  answered  Symantha,  bending  over  her 
work.  "Call  her  '  mother'  if  it  pleases  her.  It  won't 
do  any  hurt." 

"  I  do,"  said  Kit.  "  But  isn't  it  queer  that  she 
should  be  crazy  about  that,  when  she  seems  all  right 
about  every  thing  else  ?" 


MORE   CHANGES.  2? I 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  Symantha :  "people  often  are 
that  way.  I  read  of  a  man  who  thought  he  was  a 
glass  bottle,  though  he  was  straight  enough  about 
every  other  subject.  He  was  always  afraid  people 
were  going  to  break  him.  Isn't  this  the  day  for  your 
singing-class  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  didn't  know  whether  you  could  spare 
me." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  will  manage.  I  will  tell  ma  you  have 
gone  to  learn  some  new  hymns  for  her.  Put  on  your 
other  frock,  and  run  along  while  she  is  asleep  ;  and 
you  will  have  a  little  time  in  school." 

Kit  had  carried  her  point  about  going  to  Sunday 
school,  and  a  very  happy  though  very  shy  little  girl  it 
was  who  presented  herself  at  the  church  door  the  first 
Sunday  morning  in  August.  For  the  church  repairs 
were  quite  finished  now.  The  painting  was  done,  the 
belfry  made  secure,  the  aisles  carpeted,  and  the  weedy, 
brambly  graveyard  reduced  to  such  order  and  neatness, 
that,  as  Edward  Kettle  said,  it  wouldn't  know  itself. 
The  ladies  regarded  the  result  of  their  work  with  great 
satisfaction,  and  Mr.  Blandy  remarked  with  great  com- 
placency that  we  had  made  a  good  piece  of  work  of  it. 

"  Whose  class  would  you  like  to  be  in,  Kitty  ? " 
asked  Mr.  Bassett,  the  superintendent. 

"  I  don't  care,"  answered  Kit  ;  "  only  I  think  I  had 
better  go  with  the  little  ones,  because  I  don't  know 
any  thing  hardly." 

"  I  think  I  shall  put  you  in  my  wife's  class,"  said 
the  superintendent ;  and  Kit  was  quite  content,  for, 
like  every  child  that  came  near  her,  she  dearly  loved 
"  Ma  Bassett." 


2/2          OLDHAM ;    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  Well,  how  did  Kit  get  on  ? "  asked  Mr.  Bassett 
of  his  wife  after  school. 

"  Nicely,"  answered  Mrs.  Bassett  ;  "  no  child  could 
behave  better.  And  as  to  her  not  knowing  any  thing, 
she  has  more  Scripture  in  her  head,  and  her  heart 
too,  than  half  the  grown  people  in  town.  It  is  won- 
derful to  see  such  a  growth  of  grace  in  a  child  who 
has  had  so  little  teaching." 

" Grace  is  not  dependent  on  human  means,  hap- 
pily," remarked  her  husband.  "  Did  she  say  any 
thing  about  her  aunt  ?  " 

"  Only  that  she  is  failing.  Dr.  Chase  says  she  can- 
not live  many  days.  He  says,  too,  what  I  was  glad 
to  hear,  that  they  are  very  kind  to  the  poor  thing, 
and  that  it  is  easy  to  see,  by  the  way  she  depends 
upon  her  husband,  that  he  is  habitually  good  to  her." 

u  Well,  I  am  sorry  for  Phin  Mallory,"  observed  Mr. 
Bassett.  "  I  don't  think  we  have  treated  him  quite 
right,  either.  After  all,  nobody  really  knows  any 
harm  of  him,  so  far  as  his  conduct  goes,  except  that 
he  drinks  now  and  then.  Can't  you  make  an  errand 
up  there,  ma  ?  Perhaps  you  might  get  a  chance  to 
talk  to  him." 

"  I  can  try,  at  any  rate.  If  he  is  so  fond  of  his 
wife,  he  won't  be  likely  to  insult  any  one  who  comes 
to  do  her  a  kindness." 

Accordingly,  next  day  Mrs.  Bassett  presented  her- 
self at  Phin  Mallory's  door  with  a  little  basket  of 
ripe  apricots,  the  first  of  the  season,  and  some  other 
dainties,  for  the  invalid.  But  she  could  not  flatter 
herself  that  her  visit  had  any  very  particular  result. 
She  did  not  see  Symantha,  who  was  lying  down 


MORE   CHANGES.  2?$ 

with  a  headache.  Phin  took  her  into  his  wife's  room, 
and  she  exchanged  a  few  words  with  the  invalid,  who 
was  much  pleased  with  the  prettily  decorated  basket 
of  fruit,  and  made  her  acknowledgments  in  a  way 
which  showed  her  to  be  a  cultivated,  well-bred 
woman.  Mrs.  Bassett's  womanly  eye  remarked  with 
pleasure  the  delicate  neatness  of  every  thing  about 
the  sick  woman,  and  the  gentleness  of  her  husband's 
manner  toward  her ;  but  Mrs.  Mallory  was  so  weak 
that  she  did  not  venture  to  prolong  her  visit. 

"Good-by,  Mrs.  Mallory.  I  hope  you  will  let  us 
know  if  we  can  do  any  thing  for  .you." 

"Thank  you,"  answered  Mrs.  Mallory,  "but  I  have 
the  best  of  care ;  and  it  is  an  unspeakable  comfort 
to  have  my  little  girl  with  me  again." 

"Whom  does  she  mean  by  her  little  girl?"  asked 
Mrs.  Bassett  when  they  had  left  the  room. 

"She  means  Kit,"  answered  Phin.  "She  thinks 
Kit  is  her  daughter;  and  we  let  her  think  so,  since 
she  takes  comfort  in  it.  There  isn't  much  use  in 
arguing  with  crazy  people." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  use,"  agreed  Mrs.  Bassett.  "  Kit  is  a 
dear  child.  I  am  so  glad  you  let  her  come  to  Sunday 
school !  Miss  Celia  Claxton  was  saying  Sunday,  she 
remembered  your  sister  Chloe  coming  to  church  and 
Sunday  school  when  she  was  just  about  Kit's  age." 

"  Yes,  Chloe  was  a  good  girl :  she  took  after  my 
mother.  But  she  died  young." 

"  So  Celia  was  saying.  She  was  telling  me  how 
happy  she  was  in  her  last  sickness  and  death.  It  is 
a  blessed  thing,  Mr.  Mallory,  to  have  one's  dying 
pillow  smoothed  by  such  a  hope." 


2/4          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"Well,  perhaps  it  is,"  replied  Phin,  with  some 
thing  of  a  sigh.  "But  what  if  it  turns  out  all  a  delu- 
sion, and  there  should  be  no  such  thing  as  heaven 
and  the  rest  of  it,  after  all  ? " 

"  Well,  what  if  it  does  ? "  answered  Mrs.  Bassett 
with  spirit.  "Then  I  shall  be  just  as  well  off  as  you 
are,  and  there  won't  be  much  danger  of  your  laugh- 
ing at  me,  as  somebody  says.  But  if  I  am  right,  and 
you  are  wrong,  you  will  be  making  rather  an  awful 
mistake,  Mr.  Mallory." 

"There  is  something  in  that,"  admitted  Phin. 
"Anyhow,  I  am  willing  folks  should  take  all  the  com- 
fort they  can." 

"  But  won't  you  think  about  it  yourself,  Mr.  Mal- 
lory ?  Won't  you  come  to  our  Friday-evening  meet- 


ing? 


"  Well,  no,  I  guess  not.  Folks  wouldn't  want  me 
there." 

"  You  are  very  much  mistaken,"  answered  Mrs. 
Bassett  eagerly.  "  We  should  all  be  very  glad  to 
see  you.  Only  come,  and  see  if  you  don't  have  a 
welcome." 

"I  will  see  about  it.  Well,  Mrs.  Bassett,  I  am 
very  much  obliged  to  you  for  coming  to  see  my  wife, 
and  for  your  kindness  to  Kit.  You  and  your  hus- 
band live  .up  to  what  you  profess,  anyhow ;  and  that 
is  more  than  most  folks  do,  even  according  to  their 
own  showing.  I  heard  two  church-members  talking 
in  Oldbury  the  last  time  I  was  there,  and  it  was  all 
about  the  worldliness  of  the  churches,  and  how  little 
they  were  doing." 

"  They  might  have  been  better  employed." 


MORE   CHANGES.  2/5 

"  I  thought  so  myself.  It  was  a  little  too  much 
like  the  ill  bird  that  spoils  its  own  nest.  I'd  stick 
up  for  my  own  side,  anyhow." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Mallory,  if  you  need  help  any  time,  I 
hope  you  won't  hesitate  to  ask  for  it.  Celia  and 
Delia  Claxton  told  me  to  say  that  they  would  come 
and  sit  up  any  night." 

"Much  obliged,  but  I  take  care  of  my  wife  myself 
nights.  —  Old  cats!  they  just  want  to  satisfy  their 
curiosity,  and  find  something-to  talk  about,"  muttered 
Phin  to  himself  as  he  returned  to  his  wife's  room. 
"And  yet  I  won't  say  that,  either.  It  was  kind  of 
them  to  offer,  anyhow." 

But  Mrs.  Mallory  was  soon  to  be  beyond  the  need 
of  earthly  aid.  That  night  she  seemed  better  and 
brighter  than  usual.  She  talked  to  Kit  about  her 
Sunday-school  lesson,  and  heard  her  read  and  sing, 
as  usual.  After  Kit  had  gone  to  bed,  Mrs.  Mallory 
called  her  husband,  and  had  a  long  private  conver- 
sation with  him,  —  so  long  that  Symantha  became 
uneasy,  and  went  to  the  door. 

"  I  am  afraid  ma  is  talking  too  much,"  said  she. 

"I  have  done  now,"  said  the  invalid,  smiling 
sweetly  as  Symantha  kissed  her.  "  I  shall  not  talk 
much  more.  Good-by,  Symantha.  You  have  been 
a  kind  friend  to  me ;  and  I  have  tried  you  sadly,  I 
know.  Be  kind  to  my  child,  as  you  have  been  to 
me.  Will  you  promise  me  that?"  she  asked,  holding 
Symantha's  hand,  and  looking  wistfully  at  her. 

"  Yes,  ma,  I  promise  you  I  will  always  be  kind  to 
Kit  as  long  as  it  is  in  my  power.  Now  lie  down 
and  go  to  sleep." 


276          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

Phin  remained  with  his  wife,  as  usual,  through  the 
night.  The  sky  was  just  growing  bright  with  the 
approaching  sunrise  when  he  opened  Symantha's 
door. 

"  Come  quick  !  "  said  he. 

Symantha  lost  not  a  moment.  She  called  Kit, 
and  hastened  to  the  bedside.  Mrs.  Mallory  seemed 
to  be  still  sleeping,  but  her  face  showed  the  approach 
of  the  shadow  that  never  falls  but  once.  Kit  saw 
the  change,  and  was  awe-struck. 

"  Is  she  worse  ? "  she  whispered,  taking  hold  of 
Symantha's  hand. 

"  Speak  to  her,  Kit.  Call  her  mother,"  said  Phin 
hoarsely. 

"  Don't  you  feel  so  well,  mother  ?  Shall  I  get  ymi 
something?  Dear  mother,  speak  to  your  own  Kitty." 

The  blue  eyes  were  opened,  and  lighted  up  for  a 
moment  with  unearthly  brilliancy.  "  Dear  child, 
hold  fast  to  your  Father  in  heaven.  Never  let  go 
—  never  "  —  Her  voice  faltered. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Matey  ? "  asked  Phin,  bend- 
ing over  her.  The  eyes  rested  on  him  with  a  look 
of  unutterable  tenderness,  but  the  power  of  speech 
was  gone.  There  was  a  sweet  smile,  a  long,  soft 
sigh,  and  all  was  over.  The  tired  and  troubled  spirit 
had  found  rest. 

Mrs.  Bassett  and  the  two  Claxton  sisters  came 
with  offers  of  neighborly  assistance,  which  were  ac- 
cepted by  Symantha ;  and  the  last  offices  were  kindly 
and  tenderly  performed  by  their  friendly  hands,  as  is 
the  beautiful  custom  of  the  country.  Long  may  it 
continue ! 


MORE   CHANGES.  2JJ 

When  the  old  ladies  returned  to  their  home,  they 
found  Aunt  Betsy  sitting  on  the  front  steps. 

"  So  you  have  come  at  last,"  said  she.  "Here  I've 
been  a-waiting  and  a-vvaiting  as  much  as  half  an 
hour.  Seems  to  me  it  is  pretty  early  for  folks  to  be 
going  a-visiting." 

"I  think  as  much,  Aunt  Betsy.  What  brought 
you  here  before  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  ? "  re- 
turned Miss  Delia. 

"  I  came  to  borrow  some  ginger  and  some  molas- 
ses," snapped  Aunt  Betsy.  "  And  I  expect  I've  got 
my  death  of  cold  waiting  for  you.  .  Where  have  you 
been?" 

"Oh,  we  have  been  out  on  business,"  answered 
Miss  Delia,  calmly  proceeding  to  kindle  her  fire. 
"  Now  we  are  going  to  have  some  breakfast  if  we  can 
get  a  chance.  —  Celia,  will  you  have  tea,  or  coffee  ? " 

"  Just  as  you  like,"  said  Miss  Celia,  who  never  had 
any  choice  in  household  matters.  Delia  used  to  say 
it  would  never  do  for  her  to  go  away  for  a  whole 
week,  since  Celia  would  starve  because  she  could  not 
make  up  her  mind  what  to  cook. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  anyway  ?"  demanded  Aunt 
Betsy  in  a  tone  of  exasperation. 

"We  have  been  up  to  Phin  Mallory's,  helping  to 
lay  out  his  wife,"  answered  Miss  Celia.  "The  poor 
thing  died  at  sunrise,  and  Symantha  sent  Kitty  down 
for  us." 

"  Do  tell !     Was  she  alone  ? " 

"  No  :  her  father  was  there." 

"Do  tell!  Well,  and  how  did  you  find  things? 
Folks  say  they  kept  the  poor  thing  tied  down  to  her 


2/8          OLDHAM ';    OR,  BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

bedstead  and  half  starved,  and  beat  her  to  make  her 
quiet." 

"  Folks  say  more  than  there  is  any  call  for,"  an- 
swered Miss  Delia.  "  It  is  easy  to  see  that  poor 
Mrs.  Mallory  has  been  well  done  for.  Her  bed,  and 
every  thing  about  her,  was  as  neat  as  wax.  Besides, 
Dr.  Chase  has  been  to  see  her  several  times,  and  he 
told  me  himself  that  it  was  plain  she  was  well 
treated." 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  Folks  are  very  deceitful," 
said  Aunt  Betsy,  evidently  disappointed.  "  I  don't 
believe  she  would  have  screamed  so  if  she  hadn't 
been  abused.  And  when  is  the  funeral  to  be  ?  " 

"  On  Friday,  I  believe." 

"  That's  awful  quick,  seems  to  me." 

"  Two  days,  and  you  know  it  is  very  hot  weather." 

"  And  where  will  she  be  buried  ?  " 

"  Here,  I  presume." 

"Are  any  of  her  own  folks  coming  to  the  funeral  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  It  is  no  business  of 
mine,"  answered  Miss  Delia,  whose  patience,  never  her 
strongest  point,  began  to  grow  threadbare.  "  Celia, 
do  come  and  get  your  breakfast.  You  will  be  fainting 
away. — There  is  your  ginger,  Aunt  Betsy;  but  we 
haven't  any  molasses,  and  sha'n't  have  till  I  get  a 
chance  to  send  down  to  the  store.  I  suppose  you 
have  had  your  breakfast,  of  course,  long  before  this 
time.  Good-morning." 

"  Mean,  stingy  old  maid  !  "  said  Aunt  Betsy  as  she 
went  away  with  her  ginger. 

"  You  might  have  asked  her  to  breakfast,"  said  Miss 
Celia,  coming  from  the  pantry.  "  Why  didn't  you  ?  " 


MOKE   CHANGES.  2/9 

"Because  I  wanted  you  to  have  your  breakfast  in 
peace.  You  are  like  a  cat  without  claws,  Celia.  It 
is  well  you  have  me  to  do  a  little  scratching  for  you 
now  and  then." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE    TEA-PARTY. 

Two  days  after  her  death  Mrs.  Mallory's  body  was 
laid  in  the  old  churchyard  beside  the  grave  of  her 
husband's  young  sister.  Mr.  Brace,  the  new  minis- 
ter, officiated  ;  and  a  great  many  people  came  to  the 
funeral.  Phin  was  deeply  affected,  and  broke  down 
entirely  at  the  grave. 

"  Won't  you  come  into  my  house,  and  rest  a  little 
before  you  go  home,  Mr.  Mallory  ? "  said  kind  Mrs. 
Andrews,  who  lived  close  by  the  church. 

''Yes,  do  ;  you  and  the  girls,"  added  Mr.  Andrews. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  but  I  think  pa  will  be  best  at 
home,"  said  Symantha.  "He  is  quite  worn  out  with 
watching." 

"  Well,  if  we  can  do  any  thing  for  you,  you  must 
let  us  know,"  said  Mr.  Andrews  as  he  shook  hands 
with  Phin. 

"And  just  let  me  say  one  word  to  you,  Phineas," 
said  old  Mrs.  Bassett.  "  I  knew  your  mother  and 
your  grandmother,  so  you  will  excuse  an  old  woman's 
freedom.  Don't  go  to  seeking  comfort  in  drink. 
There  may  be  forgetfulness  in  it,  but  there  is  no 
280 


THE    TEA-PARTY.  28 1 

peace ;  and  it  will  only  leave  you  worse  than  you 
were  before.  Don't  go  looking  for  comfort  in  the 
world,  my  son  ;  but  turn  to  your  wife's  God  and  your 
mother's  God.  He  has  stricken,  and  He  can  bind 
up.  Don't  touch  the  drink,  whatever  you  do." 

"  I  won't,"  said  Phin,  pressing  her  hand ;  and  at 
the  time  he  meant  what  he  said.  For  at  least  a 
month  he  staid  quietly  at  home,  working  diligently 
on  his  farm,  mending  the  fences,  and  repairing  the 
house  and  barns.  He  even  went  twice  to  the  Friday- 
evening  service,  at  Kit's  entreaty,  and  joined  his 
splendid  bass  voice  to  the  singing.  Symantha's  face 
began  once  more  to  lose  its  expression  of  care  and 
apprehension  ;  and,  as  to  Kit,  she  was  never  so  happy 
in  her  life.  She  went  to  school  every  day,  and  to 
church  and  Sunday  school  on  Sunday.  Melissa, 
hitherto  the  greatest  disturber  of  her  peace,  was  out 
of  the  way ;  and  uncle  Phin  was  always  kind  nowa- 
days, and  let  her  read  her  Bible  and  sing  her  hymns 
as  much  as  she  liked.  Her  mind  expanded  every 
day,  and  she  was  one  of  those  happy  people  to  whom 
the  acquisition  of  knowledge  is  a  keen  delight  for  its 
own  sake.  All  the  girls  liked  her ;  and  even  Aunt 
Betsy  allowed  that  "that  Mallory  young  one"  be- 
haved very  well  when  she  was  in  sight,  but  made 
herself  amends  by  adding,  "  But  she'll  show  out 
what  is  in  her  yet,  you  may  depend  upon  it.  What's 
bred  in  the  bone  stays  long  in  the  flesh." 

"  Very  true,"  said  Miss  Delia,  to  whom  the  remark 
was  addressed.  "  We've  all  got  total  depravity  bred 
in  our  bones,  Aunt  Betsy  ;  and  I,  for  one,  haven't  got 
rid  of  it  yet,  altogether." 


282          OLDIIAM ;    OK,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"And  there's  Phin  Mallory  coming  to  the  meet- 
ings," pursued  Aunt  Betsy.  "We  shall  have  all  the 
riffraff  in  town  coming  in  next." 

"I  am  sure  I  wish  we  could,"  remarked  Mr.  Brace, 
the  new  minister.  "  I,  for  one,  should  enjoy  the  sight, 
as  our  Lord  did  when  the  publicans  and  sinners 
came  together  to  hear  Him.  What  is  the  Church 
for,  Mrs.  Burr,  if  not  to  gather  in  just  such  people  as 
those  you  call  riffraff  ?  " 

"  I  think,  sometimes,  the  Church  doesn't  do  as 
much  of  that  sort  of  work  as  it  might,"  said  Miss 
Delia. 

"  Of  course  not.  The  Church  does  not  do  as  much 
work  of  any  sort  as  it  might.  Nevertheless  it  does 
most  of  the  work  that  is  done  in  that  line.  Who 
sustains  all  the  city  missions  and  charities,  all  the 
mission  Sunday  schools  in  low  city  districts  and  far- 
away Western  towns,  all  the  frontier  missionaries  and 
those  in  foreign  parts,  if  not  the  Church  ?  You  talk 
about  riffraff,  Mrs.  Burr :  I  should  like  to  take  you  to 
New  York,  and  show  you  the  lady  visitors  going  fear- 
lessly into  neighborhoods  where  even  the  policeman 
looks  carefully  to  his  revolver  before  he  ventures. 
I  should  like  to  take  you  into  one  tenement-house  I 
know  of,  where  I  found  a  district  nurse,  a  well-edu- 
cated lady,  making  a  fire  in  a  cracked  stove,  and 
cleaning  flour  and  windows  with  her  own  hands,  be- 
dause  no  ordinary  charwoman  would  venture  into 
the  place.  Who  does  all  these  things  but  the  Church 
in  some  of  its  branches,  —  that  Church  which  is  the 
blessed  company  of  all  faithful  people  ?  The  Church 
does  not  accomplish  half,  no,  not  a  tenth,  of  what  it 


THE    TEA-PARTY.  283 

might  if  every  member  thereof  were  faithful  in  his 
and  her  vocation  and  ministry ;  but  the  world  would 
be  badly  off  without  it." 

Mr.  Brace  spoke  with  a  good  deal  of  earnestness, 
possibly  with  some  little  heat,  as  people  are  apt  to  do 
when  they  feel  warmly ;  and  Aunt  Betsy  was  con- 
firmed in  her  opinion  that  he  had  no  proper  ministe- 
rial dignity,  and  would  never  fill  Dr.  Munson's  pulpit. 

Phin  staid  at  home,  as  I  have  said,  for  nearly  a 
month.  Then  he  felt  himself  obliged  to  go  to  Old- 
bury  with  a  load  of  hay. 

"  Why  don't  you  sell  your  hay  in  Oldfield  ?  "  asked 
Symantha. 

"  Because  I  promised  it  to  Stannard  at  the  tavern, 
and  I  don't  want  to  break  my  word.  Don't  you  be 
scared,  my  girl  :  I'm  not  going  to  make  a  fool  of 
myself  any  more.  I've  turned  over  a  new  leaf  about 
that.  Keep  up  a  good  heart,  and  I'll  bring  you  and 
Kitty  each  a  new  frock  if  I  have  good  luck  with  my 
hay." 

"  I  want  a  piece  of  cotton  sheeting,  more  than  a 
new  frock.  Kit  needs  a  dress  or  two,  but  I  thought  I 
should  get  them  just  as  well  at  Mr.  Andrews's  :  he 
has  some  nice  black-and-white  checks.  Anyhow, 
father,  do  keep  away  from  Stillwell's." 

"  I'm  not  going  near  Stillwell's,"  said  Phin  rather 
angrily.  "  I  believe  you  think  your  father  is  a  fool." 
Then,  softening  as  he  saw  his  daughter's  evident  dis- 
tress, "Don't  you  borrow  trouble.  I  don't  much 
wonder  at  your  doing  it,  all  things  considered  ;  but 
you'll  see  I'll  come  home  all  right.  I'm  no  such  tow- 
string  of  a  man  as  you  think  me." 


284          OLDHAM;    OR,    BESIDE   ALL    WATERS 

But  alas !  what  man  is  not  a  tow-string  when  as- 
sailed by  old  appetites  and  old  temptations,  and  old 
companions  ready  to  do  the  Devil's  work,  and  take 
the  Devil's  wages  ?  Phin  came  home  silent  and  mo- 
rose. He  brought  no  new  frocks  for  anybody ;  and 
when  Symantha  asked  him,  next  day,  for  money  to 
make  some  needful  purchases  at  the  Corners,  he  re- 
plied shortly  that  he  had  none. 

"  I  thought  you  sold  your  hay,"  said  Symantha. 
"Didn't  Stannard  pay  you  ?" 

"  No  —  yes,  partly ;  but  I  had  to  use  the  money 
another  way.  Take  some  of  the  butter-money,  or  get 
Andrews  to  trust  you  :  I'll  make  it  all  right  with  him." 

"  I  thought  we  agreed  to  save  the  butter-money 
for  ma's  grave-stone,"  said  Symantha. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  answered  Phin,  turning  suddenly 
away.  "  I'd  give  you  the  money  if  I  had  it ;  but  I 
haven't,  and  there's  no  use  talking." 

Symantha  sighed,  but  said  no  more.  In  a  few 
days  Phin  went  to  Olclbury  again,  and  came  home 
so  drunk  that  Symantha  and  Kit  had  to  take  care 
of  the  team.  His  visits  became  more  and  more  fre- 
quent, often  lasting  two  or  three  days  at  a  time.  He 
brought  home  another  keg  of  beer,  and  from  that 
time  was  hardly  ever  sober.  He  began  to  talk  of 
selling  the  farm  and  going  West  again,  and  Syman- 
tha was  in  despair. 

"  I  did  think  we  were  settled  at  last,"  said  she. 
"  I  thought  I  was  to  have  a  home." 

"  Well,  have  a  home.  Who  hinders  you  ? "  said 
her  father  roughly.  "  You  and  Kit  can  hire  a  room 
somewhere,  and  take  care  of  yourselves." 


THE    TEA-PARTY..  285 

"  You  know  I  won't  do  that,  father.  I  shall  never 
leave  you." 

"Maybe  I  shall  leave  you,"  said  Phin.  "It  don't 
follow,  because  I  am  going  to  destruction,  that  I  need 
drag  you  after  me. — Well,  there,  you  needn't  cry, 
Kit :  I  haven't  gone  yet." 

"  I  can't  help  crying  when  you  talk  so,"  sobbed  Kit. 
"  O  uncle  Phin !  do  be  good.  You  have  been  so 
nice  lately,  and  gone  to  church,  and  all.  I  did  think 
you  were  going  to  turn  out  a  Christian." 

"  I  almost  thought  so,  myself,  Kitty ;  but  it's  no 
go,"  said  Phin,  with  a  hard  laugh.  "  You  see,  I'm 
one  of  those  stony-ground  hearers  that  you  read 
about  the  other  day,  and  nothing  good  will  grow  in 
me.  But  you  and  your  friends  believe  in  prayer  : 
why  don't  you  pray  for  me  !  " 

"  I  do,"  replied  Kit  with  emphasis,  "every  day  and 
every  night  ;  and  I  am  going  to  keep  on.  You  don't 
believe  in  God,  uncle  Phin  ;  but  you  can't  get  away 
from  Him,  not  in  Oldbury  nor  anywhere  else." 

Kit  kept  her  word ;  and  her  prayers  were  heard, 
but  not  in  the  way  she  expected  or  would  have 
chosen. 

Meantime  the  school  was  prospering  in  Ida's  hands ; 
and  every  one  was  satisfied,  except  Aunt  Betsy,  who 
never  was  satisfied  with  any  thing.  Ida  and  Amity, 
partly  from  real  compassion,  and  partly,  I  fear,  for 
the  joke's  sake,  had  set  themselves  to  work  to  con- 
ciliate the  old  woman.  Ida,  who  had  a  genius  for 
millinery,  made  her  a  pretty  cap,  and  Amity  carried 
her  a  pound  of  very  fine  green  tea,  such  as  she  liked  ; 
but  all  to  no  purpose.  Aunt  Betsy  admitted  that 


286          OLD II AM  ;    OR,    BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

the  cap  looked  tolerably  well,  considering :  she  sup- 
posed it  was  fudged  up  out  of  some  of  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt's  old  ones.  As  to  the  tea,  she  thought  it  was 
a  queer  color. 

"That  is  because  it  is  not  colored  at  all,"  explained 
Amity,  always  sweet  and  unruffled.  "  Most  green 
teas  are  dyed,  you  know  ;  but  my  aunt  had  this  tea 
in  a  present  from  a  Chinese  gentleman  who  was  a 
correspondent  of  my  uncle's  for  many  years,  and 
who  understands  about  such  matters.  He  sends  my 
aunt  a  chest  of  this  tea  every  year.  It  cannot  be 
bought  in  this  country. " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  dare  say  he  makes  her  think  so,"  was 
Aunt  Betsy's  reply.  "  I  always  heard  them  Chinese 
were  up  to  all  kinds  of  tricks. — They  thought  they 
were  going  to  coax  me  round,"  she  said  to  Miss 
Jewsbury  afterward,  in  relating  the  interview ;  "  but 
I  let  them  know  that  I  wasn't  going  to  be  patron- 
ized." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  wish  she  would  patronize  me 
that  way,"  said  Miss  Jewsbury,  who  loved  green  tea, 
and  did  not  often  get  it.  "  Do  give  me  a  drawing  of 
it,  Aunt  Betsy.  You  might  let  me  have  it  all  if  you 
don't  want  it.  My  girls  don't  like  green  tea,  and  I 
hardly  ever  have  any." 

"  I  never  said  I  didn't  like  it,  and  you  are  as  well 
able  to  buy  tea  as  I  am,"  was  the  reply.  However, 
I  suppose  I  can  let  you  have  a  cupful.  You  can 
pay  me  in  cheese." 

But,  though  Aunt  Betsy  was  not  to  be  won  over, 
Ida  had  plenty  of  friends.  Even  the  Jewsbury  girls 
liked  her,  and  behaved  better  in  school  than  they 


THE    TEA-PARTY.  28? 

had  ever  done  before.  The  truth  was,  that  Ruth  had 
grown  secretly  tired  of  her  rebellion  against  Miss 
Armstrong,  and  was  glad  of  a  pretext  for  giving  it  up  ; 
and  her  younger  sister  followed  her  lead,  as  -a  matter 
of  course.  Ida  had  the  teaching  gift.  She  loved  the 
children  and  the  work  for  their  own  sake.  She 
enjoyed  success  and  popularity,  as  who  does  not?  and 
it  was  a  source  of  exquisite  pleasure  to  her  to  see  the 
eyes  brighten  and  the  cheeks  flush  as  she  told  them 
some  story  of  heroism  or  self-sacrifice,  growing  out 
of  and  illustrating  the  history  or  geography  lesson. 
The  children  began  to  repeat  these  stones  at  home. 
Miss  Priscilla  Davis,  who  had  wanted  the  school  for 
herself,  pronounced  it  queer  kind  of  teaching, — 
making  a  geography  lesson  like  a  novel.  But  Mr. 
Bassett  declared  he  meant  to  put  on  a  roundabout  and 
pinafore,  and  come  to  school  himself. 

"  I  have  a  very  interesting  letter  to  read  to  you, 
girls,  if  you  like  to  stay  a  few  minutes  after  school," 
said  Ida  one  day.  "You  can  do  just  as  you  please 
about  it." 

All  chose  to  stay  ;  and  Miss  Van  Zandt  produced 
her  letter,  which  was  from  a  friend  engaged  in  the 
flower  mission  in  New  York. 

"What  is  a  flower  mission  ? "  asked  Ednah  Fletcher. 

Ida  explained  the  matter  as  well  as  it  could  be  ex- 
plained to  children  who  had  never  seen  a  tenement- 
house  or  a  city  court,  and  whose  notions  of  the  state 
of  poor  people  were  taken  from  Aunt  Betsy  and 
others  like  her. 

"  How  dreadful !"  said  Faith.  "But,  Miss  Van 
Zandt,  what  makes  people  stay  in  such  places?" 


288          OLDHAM ';    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  Many  are  obliged  to  do  so.  They  must  live 
near  their  work,  and  rents  are  fearfully  high  in  New 
York.  Others  know  no  better,  and,  if  they  did,  have 
no  means  to  get  away.  But,  suppose  you  lived  in 
such  a  place  as  my  friend  describes,  would  not  you  be 
glad  to  see  some  one  who  came  to  you  with  a  bunch 
of  flowers  or  a  nice  little  plant  ? " 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  "  answered  several  voices  ;  and 
Ednah  added  regretfully,  "  I  do  like  to  go  to  Ma 
Bassett's  in  winter,  and  see  her  plants.  They  look 
so  nice  when  there  is  nothing  but  ice  and  snow  out- 
side ! " 

"Then  you  can  think  how  nice  such  plants  would 
be  if  there  were  nothing  but  dirty  streets  and  courts 
to  be  seen  outside,"  said  Ida.  "  But,  Ednah,  does  not 
your  sister  keep  plants  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am.  She  says  they  make  so  much  dirt 
in  the  house." 

"  Miss  Van  Zandt,  why  couldn't  we  send  a  box  of 
flowers  to  your  friend  ?  "  said  Ruth  Jewsbury.  "  The 
golden-rods  are  beautiful  now,  and  they  last  a  long 


time." 


"  I  declare !  that  is  an  excellent  idea,"  said  Agnes. 
"If  we  sent  buds,  they  would  bloom  out  in  water." 

"Golden-rod  is  so  common,  I  should  not  think  that 
they  would  care  for  that,"  said  one  of  the  children. 

"  Not  very  common  in  New  York,  my  dear." 

"  Don't  it  grow  by  the  side  of  the  road  in  New 
York?"  asked  Eben  Fletcher  innocently. 

The  older  children  laughed,  and  Miss  Van  Zandt 
explained  the  matter. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  live  in  such  a  place,  not  if  you 


THE    TEA-PARTY.  289 

was  to  give  me  fifty  dollars,"  said  the  little  boy 
positively. 

"  Nor  I,  not  long  at  a  time,"  replied  Miss  Van 
Zanclt  ;  "but  you  must  remember,  Eben,  that  there 
are  advantages  and  disadvantages  everywhere.  —  I 
will  talk  this  matter  of  sending  flowers  over  with  my 
aunt,  girls,  and  we  will  see  what  can  be  done." 

The  next  day  Ida  again  asked  the  girls  to  stay 
after  school. 

"  My  aunt  is  much  pleased  with  your  idea  of  send- 
ing a  box  of  flowers,  girls,"  said  she.  "  Now,  how 
many  of  you  are  willing  to  take  your  holiday  to-mor- 
row afternoon  instead  of  Saturday,  and  give  the  time 
to  gathering  flowers  and  ferns  ?" 

All  the  children  were  more  than  willing,  only  Faith 
Fletcher  demurred. 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,"  said  she,  "  but  I  was 
counting  on  Saturday  afternoon  to  help  sister.  She 
isn't  well  at  all,  and  I  thought  I  could  take  some  of 
the  work  off  her  hands  on  Saturday." 

"  What  ails  your  sister  ?  "  asked  Ida. 

"  She  won't  allow  that  any  thing  ails  her,"  replied 
Faith,  "  and  she  will  keep  at  work  all  the  time ;  but 
she  grows  thin  and  pale,  and  I  know  she  has  a  pain 
in  her  side.  Father  wants  to  have  a  girl,  but  she 
won't  hear  of  it." 

"  She  will  find  that  very  poor  economy  in  the  end," 
remarked  Ida.  "  Well,  I  will  tell  you  what  we  can  do. 
You  can  come  to  school  at  half-past  eight,  instead  of 
nine,  and  we  will  have  only  half  an  hour's  intermis- 
sion at  noon,  and  no  recess.  Then  I  can  let  you  go 
at  three  o'clock,  which  will  give  plenty  of  time  for  the 


OLDIIAM ;    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

flower-gathering.  And  I  must  not  forget  to  say  that 
aunt  Barbara  hopes  you  will  all  come  to  her  house 
to  tea  at  six  o'clock,  and  bring  your  flowers." 

"  Sha'n't  we  go  home  and  get  dressed  ? "  asked 
Jenny  Hurd.  "  We  sha'n't  look  very  nice." 

"  By  no  means,"  answered  Ida.  "  Come  straight 
from  your  flower-gathering.  Soap  and  water  are 
plenty,  and  that  is  all  you  will  need." 

"  What  kind  of  flowers  shall  we  bring  ?  any  thing 
but  golden-rod  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  all  the  flowers  you  can  lay  hands  on,  — 
yarrow  and  daisies  and  cockle,  and,  above  all,  plenty 
of  green." 

"I  think  a  parcel  of  ferns  would  be  nice,"  observed 
Kit.  "I  know  where  there  are  lovely  ones, — ever 
so  many  kinds." 

"  They  will  be  just  the  thing." 

It  was  a  very  pretty  sight  that  greeted  the  eyes  of 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt  and  her  nieces  as  the  children  pre- 
sented themselves  the  next  evening  at  six  o'clock, 
laden  with  flowers  of  all  sorts,  wild  and  tame.  Mrs. 
Bassett  had  not  dared  to  let  little  Emma,  who  was  a 
delicate  child,  go  out  with  the  others  ;  but,  to  make 
amends,  she  had  cut  almost  every  flower  in  her  gar- 
den,—  dahlias,  foxgloves,  great  spears  of  hollyhocks, 
and  a  huge  bunch  of  lemon-thyme  and  sweet  basil. 
Others  brought  sheaves  of  golden-rod  as  big  as  them- 
selves. There  were  not  many  flowers  in  Oldfield 
County  that  were  not  represented  in  the  collection. 
Kit  brought  a  basket  of  ferns  of  all  sorts,  and  a 
bunch  of  lady's-slippers,  which  she  had  found  in  a 
shady  hollow,  and  another  of  the  branching  "bear's- 


THE    TEA-PARTY.  2gi 

grass,"  or  lycopodium.  Finally,  to  crown  the  whole, 
appeared  Edward  Kettle  with  half  a  wagon-load  of 
laurel.  He  had  heard  what  the  young  ladies  were 
about,  he  said,  and  he  and  his  wife  took  the  liberty 
to  help  them. 

"  What  lovely  laurel !  "  said  Amity.  "  I  thought  it 
was  all  gone  long  ago." 

Edward  explained  that  he  had  found  it,  by  his 
grandfather's  direction,  in  a  shady  hollow  far  up  on 
Indian  Hill.  "  You  see,  the  old  gentleman  has  always 
lived  right  there  ;  and  there  ain't  many  plants  nor 
animals  round  these  parts  that  be  don't  know." 

"  I  should  like  to  make  his  acquaintance,"  said 
Amity.  "I  have  often  seen  him  in  church.  Do  you 
think  he  would  be  pleased  to  have  us  come  and  see 
him  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  miss.  He's  like  other  old  folks,  the  old 
gentleman  is,"  said  Edward:  "he  loves  to  tell  over 
his  old  stories.  Some  folks  thinks  it  tiresome,  but  I 
don't,  —  I  think  it  is  real  interesting  ;  and  anyhow,  it 
pleases  him." 

"  Well,  you  will  see  us  up  on  Indian  Hill  some 
day  soon,"  said  Amity.  "  Meantime  I  should  like 
to  send  him  some  tobacco-money,  if  he  won't  be  af- 
fronted. I  know  he  smokes  sometimes." 

"  Oh,  yes,  miss.  I  don't  think  it's  a  very  good 
habit,  myself,  but  grandfather  has  done  it  all  his  life  ; 
and  I  says  to  Maria,  says  I,  *W7hen  an  old  man,  and 
especially  an  old  Indian,  gets  to  be  a  hundred  years 
old,  it  ain't  much  worth  while  to  try  to  teach  him 
new  tricks,'  says  I.  Not  that  Maria  would  want  to 
interfere  either,  — 'tain't  her  way  ;  but  Mrs.  Hills  had 


292          OLD  II A  AT;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

been  talking  to  her  about  it,  and  saying  she  wouldn't 
have  it  if  it  was  her.  I  can  stay  and  wait  on  the 
table,  miss,  if  it  would  be  any  accommodation." 

"  I  dare  say  Aggy  will  be  glad  of  your  help,"  said 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt,  to  whom  Amity  referred  the  matter. 
And,  having  thus  carried  the  point  he  had  in  mind 
when  he  started  from  home,  Edward  proceeded  to 
display  his  gifts  in  that  line,  which  were  not  small. 
Never  was  a  more  successful  tea-party,  after  the  first 
shyness  of  the  children  wore  off.  Old  Alice  had 
made  a  bountiful  provision  of  sweets  and  substan- 
tiate. Mrs.  Van  Zandt  had  sent  to  Oldbury  for  a 
supply  of  candy,  which  was  put  up  in  pretty  boxes, 
and  given  to  the  children  to  carry  home,  with  the 
addition  of  some  nice  little  present  to  each. 

"  I  wonder  if  Aunt  Betsy  would  be  offended  if  I 
were  to  send  her  some  cake,"  said  Ida  to  Myra 
Bassett,  who  had  been  specially  invited,  as  she  was 
putting  up  a  parcel  of  good  things  for  old  Abner. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she'll  be  offended ;  but  she  will  eat 
the  cake,  all  the  same,"  answered  Myra,  laughing. 
"  That's  her  way.  I'll  take  it  to  her  if  you  like  : 
I'm  used  to  her." 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

MRS.    ORME. 

Miss  ARMSTRONG  had  not  returned  with  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt,  finding  business  to  keep  .her  in  New  York, 
and  hearing  that  the  school  was  not  suffering  from 
her  absence.  When  she  did  come  back,  she  was 
able  to  tell  the  children  of  the  safe  arrival  of  their 
box  of  flowers  ;  and  she  brought  an  urgent  request 
from  the  lady  to  whom  they  had  been  consigned,  for 
another  box  of  leaves  when  the  foliage  should  begin 
to  turn.  She  also  brought  a  quantity  of  missionary 
documents,  which  the  children  carried  home  to  their 
parents,  and  talked  over  among  themselves. 

"  Ma,*'  said  Myra  Bassett  as  she  finished  reading 
one  of  these  same  papers,  "  why  can't  we  have  a 
mission  band  in  our  Sunday  school  ?  Just  think ! 
here  is  an  Indian  church  in  Minnesota,  as  poor  as 
poverty,  giving  eighteen  dollars  in  money  and  bead- 
work  for  the  cause  of  missions  ; '  and  our  school  don't 
give  a  cent." 

"  We  take  up  a  collection  every  Sunday,"  said  Mrs. 
Bassett ;  "to  be  sure,  it  goes  to  keep  up  the  library." 

1  The  White  Earth  church,  which  is  a  pattern  in  more  ways  than  one. 
See  Bishop  Whipple's  reports. 

293 


2Q4          OLD/JAM;    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  Exactly ;  and  I  don't  call  that  giving,  at  all.  It  is 
just  like  taking  money  out  of  one  pocket  and  putting 
it  into  another.  In  Oldfield  the  Sunday  school  sup- 
ports a  Bible-woman  in  China." 

"  It  wouldn't  do  to  undertake  quite  as  much  as  that 
at  first,  but  we  might  do  something,"  said  Mrs.  Bas- 
sett.  "  I  expect  we  should  have  opposition  from 
some  quarters." 

"  So  we  did  about  cleaning  the  church,  and  yet  we 
did  it,"  said  Myra. 

"Very  true.  Well,  I'll  talk  to  your  father;  and, 
if  he  don't  see  any  objection,  I'll  ask  him  to  speak  to 
Mr.  Brace." 

"I  wish  Mr.  Brace  had  a  wife,"  said  Myra,  who 
had  "a  true  lover  and  a  sweetheart  of  her  own  "  sail- 
ing on  the  seas,  and  was  therefore  not  afraid  to 
speak.  "  It  would  seem  so  much  more  natural  and 
easy  to  go  to  him." 

"  It  is  just  possible  your  wish  may  come  to  pass," 
said  Mrs.  Bassett.  "  But,  as  to  this  notion  of  the 
mission  band,  I  must  say  I  like  it  for  the  children's 
sake.  How  much  they  were  interested  in  the  flowers 
they  sent  to  New  York  !  " 

"  Yes,  and  their  interest  did  them  good  too." 

Ma  Bassett  talked  to  her  husband,  and  he  in  turn 
to  Mr.  Brace.  The  subject  was  then  brought  up 
in  teachers'  meeting.  Miss  Armstrong  was  present, 
and,  being  called  upon,  said  what  she  thought,  —  that 
such  efforts  were  as  beneficial  to  those  who  made 
them  as  to  those  for  whom  they  were  made.  Mr. 
Brace  seconded  her  warmly,  and  gave  anecdotes  from 
his  experience  in  other  places.  There  was  some 


MKS.    ORME.  295 

opposition,  of  course ;  but  most  of  the  teachers  took 
up  the  idea  with  enthusiasm,  and  in  the  course  of  a 
few  weeks  the  Oldham  mission  band  was  a  fixed  and 
prosperous  fact. 

But  we  must  now  follow  the  fortunes  of  another 
of  our  Oldham  acquaintances.  Selina  was  down  at 
Oldbury  staying  with  her  sister,  and  taking  singing- 
lessons  of  Mr.  Schultz,  the  professor  in  the  famous 
Oldbury  schools.  Lizzy  was  fond  of  Selina,  and  had 
begun  by  being  much  pleased  with  the  arrangement ; 
but  she  was  growing  uneasy,  and  wishing  her  sister 
at  home  again.  Selina  had  made-  the  acquaintance 
of  a  certain  Mrs.  Orme,  who  had  come  up  from  New 
York,  and  taken  a  house  for  the  summer.  Mrs.  Orme 
was  apparently  rich,  —  at  least,  she  spent  her  money 
freely,  —  she  was  handsome,  and  had  a  frank,  not  to 
say  free,  manner,  which  took  Selina's  fancy  greatly. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  said  against  the  woman,  but 
Oldbury  did  not  take  to  her.  Mrs.  Orme's  garden 
joined  Mr.  Woodbury's,  and  at  her  first  coming  Lizzy 
had  shown  her  some  neighborly  civilities,  though  she 
had  never  responded  to  her  attempts  at  intimacy. 
Nevertheless,  the  two  families  spoke  together,  and 
Mrs.  Orme  introduced  herself  to  Selina  over  the  gar- 
den hedge.  She  had  heard  her  singing,  and  been 
struck  with  her  fine  voice.  Mrs.  Orme  had  a  piano, 
and  was  no  mean  performer  herself.  She  asked  Se- 
lina to  sing  with  her,  and  lent  her  the  latest  music. 
Mrs.  Orme  was  in  ecstasies  over  Selina's  voice,  and 
threw  out  broad  hints  of  having  her  young  friend 
to  spend  the  winter  with  her,  that  she  might  have 
proper  instruction. 


2^6         OLDHAM ;    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  With  that  voice,  and  a  few  lessons  in  elocution, 
you  might  do  any  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Orrne.  "You 
might  make  your  fortune." 

"  Singing  at  concerts,  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Selina. 

"  Yes,  of  course,  or  on  the  stage.  You  needn't 
look  so  shocked,  child.  A  great  many  society  ladies 
go  on  the  stage  now,  just  for  fun.  And,  if  you  don't 
care  to  do  that,  there  are  always  church  choirs  in 
New  York  where  they  will  pay  almost  any  price  for 
a  good  soprano  voice.  You  must  practise  diligently, 
and  especially  singing  at  sight,  for  that  is  all-impor- 
tant." 

"  Mr.  Schultz  says  I  improve  in  that,  but  he  was 
very  severe  on  me  at  the  last  lesson,"  observed 
Selina.  He  said,  '  Miss  Weston,  you  do  not  improve 
in  style.  You  are  imitating  your  friend  Mrs.  Orme, 
or  whatever  you  call  her,  who  sings  in  the  manner  of 
the  beer-garden.' " 

"  Spiteful  old  hunchback ! "  said  Mrs.  Orme,  color- 
ing. "  His  mind  is  as  crooked  as  his  body,  and  his 
own  style  is  that  of  a  broken-down  church-organ. 
But  never  mind.  Wait  till  I  get  you  to  New  York, 
my  dear." 

"  I  don't  believe  my  father  and  mother  will  ever 
let  me  go,"  said  Selina  regretfully. 

"  They  are  not  your  own  father  and  mother,  and  I 
don't  see  that  you  are  bound  to  obey  them,"  returned 
Mrs.  Orme.  "According  to  your  own  account,  you 
have  done  work  enough  to  pay  for  all  they  ever  gave 
you.  I  don't  doubt  that  they  are  very  nice  people," 
she  hastened  to  add,  seeing  that  Selina  looked  rather 
shocked :  "  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Woodbury  is  charming, 


MRS.    ORME.  297 

if  she  would  condescend  to  be  friendly ;  but  she 
seems  to  have  taken  a  dislike  to  me,  for  some  reason. 
Ah,  well,  my  dear,  take  pains  with  your  music,  and 
improve  as  fast  as  possible ;  and  we  shall  see  what 
can  be  done." 

Mrs.  Orme  was  right.  Lizzy  did  not  like  her,  and 
she  was  annoyed  at  the  intimacy  that  Selina  had 
struck  up  with  her. 

"  I  do  wish  you  would  not  go  to  Mrs.  Orme's  so 
often,"  she  said  to  Selina  one  day.  "I  am  sure 
mother  would  not  approve  of  it." 

"  What  have  you  against  Mrs.  Orme,  I  should 
like  to  know  ? "  asked  Selina  in  a  tone  which  said, 
"What  business  is  it  of  yours?" 

"  I  have  nothing  against  her  personally ;  that  is, 
she  has  done  nothing  to  me,"  answered  Lizzy  gently. 
"  But  I  do  not  like  her  manners,  and  I  don't  like 
such  intimacy  with  a  stranger.  We  know  nothing 
at  all  about  Mrs.  Orme." 

"There  spoke  all  Oldham,"  said  Selina.  "We 
don't  know  her,  therefore  she  must  be  bad." 

"  I  did  not  say  she  was  bad,"  returned  Lizzy. 
"  But  I  do  say  that  it  is  better  to  know  something 
of  a  person's  antecedents  and  present  standing,  be- 
fore rushing  into  a  violent  friendship  with  them." 

"  Don't  you  see  what  an  advantage  it  is  to  me  to 
sing  with  her  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  Mrs.  Orme  has  a  fine 
voice,  and  plays  well  ;  but  I  don't  think  she  has  im- 
proved your  style  at  all.  Jusjt  compare  her  singing 
with  Miss  Van  Zandt's." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Van  Zandt !     I  hate  the  very  name  of 


298          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

Miss  Van  Zandt ;  and  I  wish  she  and  her  model, 
Miss  Armstrong,  had  never  come  near  Oldham. 
They  have  set  father  and  mother  against  me,  and 
got  me  into  disgrace;  and  all  for  what?  Because  I 
would  not  play  the  hypocrite,  and  pretend  to  be  reli- 
gious. I  believe  Miss  Armstrong  is  a  humbug,  if 
ever  there  was  one ;  but  then,  she  can  talk  pious,  and 
whoever  can  do  that  goes  down  with  mother." 

"  I  have  no  more  to  say,  Selina,"  returned  Lizzy. 
"  Only  I  hope  the  time  will  never  come  when  you 
will  need  the  love  and  kindness  you  despise.  But 
one  thing  I  must  add  :  I  will  not  have  my  mother 
treated  disrespectfully  under  my  roof  by  any  one. 
Remember  that." 

"  Who  treats  her  disrespectfully  ? "  said  Selina. 
"  I  guess  I  love  mother  as  well  as  you  do,  any  day, 
and  would  do  as  much  for  her,  if  I  don't  flatter  her, 
and  swear  that  every  thing  is  right  because  she  does 
it.  But  everybody  is  against  me,"  she  added,  burst- 
ing into  tears.  "  I  have  always  been  alone  in  the 
world  ;  and,  when  I  make  a  friend,  I  can't  be  allowed 
to  enjoy  her,  because  you  are  jealous  of  her.  I 
should  think  you  would  be  ashamed  to  show  such 
a  spirit." 

"  Heyday  !  what  is  that  ?"  asked  Mr.  Woodbury  from 
the  other  room,  where  he  was  taking  off  his  boots 
preparatory  to  reading  the  evening  paper  in  comfort. 
"  I  don't  allow  any  one  to  scold  my  wife  but  myself, 
Selina.  What  is  that  Lizzy  is  to  be  ashamed  of?" 

Selina  deigned  no  answer,  but  retreated  to  her  own 
room  to  have  her  cry  out.  Having  accomplished  this 
act  to  her  satisfaction ;  having  told  herself  what  a 


MRS.    ORME.  299 

sad  thing  it  was  to  be  an  orphan  ;  having  said  to  her- 
self that  every  joy  had  its  sting,  and  every  rose  its 
thorn,  and  that,  while  she  must  expect  an  ordinary 
person  like  Lizzy  to  be  jealous  of  her  musical  talents, 
it  was  very  hard  that  she  should  be  placed  in  her 
power,  —  having  said  all  this  to  herself,  and  a  great 
deal  more,  she  began  to  think,  which  is  quite  a  dif- 
ferent thing  from  talking  to  one's  self.  She  reflected 
that  she  would  be  very  foolish  to  quarrel  with  Lizzy 
and  her  husband.  Suppose  Mr.  Woodbury  should 
say  that  he  would  not  keep  her  any  longer  ;  suppose 
he  should  complain  to  her  father:  'there  would  be 
an  end  of  the  singing-lessons,  for  which  she  had 
longed,  and  on  which  she  built  so  many  hopes.  She 
had  already  thrown  away  one  chance  of  improve- 
ment,—  that  of  singing  with  Ida  Van  Zandt.  Would 
it  not  be  the  greatest  folly  to  lose  another  ?  Then 
another  voice  began  to  make  itself  heard,  —  that  of 
conscience  ;  a  voice  which  Selina  had  not  succeeded 
in  silencing,  and  had  not  yet  learned  wholly  to  dis- 
regard. She  was  an  orphan,  with  no  claim  of  rela- 
tionship to  any  human  being  that  she  knew  of.  She 
had  never  known  of  any  home  but  the  asylum  in 
Oldbury;  till  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston  came  and  took 
her  home  to  the  ease  and  plenty  of  the  Oldham 
farmhouse.  But  for  them  she  might  still  be  living 
in  the  red-brick  house  on  Elm  Street,  dressing  on 
week-days  in  pink  or  lilac  calico,  and  walking  to 
church  on  Sunday  with  the  other  children,  if,  indeed, 
she  had  not  been  bound  out  as  a  servant  somewhere. 
She  could  not  deny,  even  to  herself,  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Weston  had  always  treated  her  like  a  daughter, 


300          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

that  there  was  not  a  girl  in  Oldham  who  had  more 
pretty  things  or  more  chances  for  education.  Mr. 
Weston  had  bought  the  piano  expressly  for  her,  for 
Lizzy  was  not  musical,  and  he  had  given  her  every 
advantage  that  the  place  afforded  ;  while  Mrs.  Weston 
and  Lizzy  had  done  more  than  their  share  of  the 
work,  that  she  might  have  time  to  practise.  Pursu- 
ing the  subject  with  the  obstinacy  which  belongs  to 
that  inconvenient  counsellor,  conscience  further  in- 
formed her  that  she  had  heretofore  made  a  very  inad- 
equate return  for  all  that  had  been  done  for  her,  that 
she  had  been  often  ill-natured  and  disrespectful,  often 
careless,  and  always  jealous  lest  perhaps  Lizzy  might 
have  something  which  she  had  not.  She  knew  that 

O 

Mrs.  Weston  had  made  a  great  sacrifice  in  letting  her 
come  to  Oidbury  in  the  very  busiest  time  of  the  year, 
that  she  might  have  the  benefit  of  Professor  Schultz's 
instructions  before  he  went  to  New  York.  Mrs. 
Weston,  like  many  notable  housewives,  disliked  hav- 
ing hired  help ;  yet  she  had  taken  in  Mariette  Jews- 
bury  to  assist  through  harvest-time,  in  order  that 
she,  Selina,  might  have  a  nice  time  in  Oidbury  ;  only 
making  the  condition  that  she  should  be  guided  by 
Lizzy  in  all  things.  What  sort  of  a  return  was  she 
making  ? 

But  Selina  did  not  care  to  listen  to  the  voice  of 
conscience.  She  said  to  herself  that  she  would  be 
more  cautious  ;  that  she  would  not  quarrel  with  Lizzy, 
or  come  across  her  prejudices.  It  was  perhaps  only 
natural  that  Lizzy  should  be  jealous  of  her  friend- 
ship with  a  superior  person  like  Mrs,  Orme,  and 
she  must  be  careful  not  to  annoy  her.  She  would 


MRS.    OK  ME.  301 

go  to  work  that  very  evening,  and  knit  a  pair  of 
shoes  for  the  baby,  and  that  would  make  every  thing 
right.  She  had  just  arrived  at  this  conclusion  when 
Lizzy  called  her  to  tea.  She  bathed  her  face  and 
eyes,  smoothed  her  hair,  and  went  down  prepared  to 
be  amiable. 

"  Horace  and  myself  are  going  up  to  see  mother 
Woodbury  a  little  while,"  said  Lizzy,  after  tea. 
"  Will  you  go  with  us  ?  Mother  sent  word  this 
afternoon  that  she  would  like  to  have  us  come  over." 

"  I  don't  think  I  will,"  answered  Selina.  "  But  I 
will  go  as  far  as  Smith's  :  I  want  to  buy  a  little  yarn. 
But  what  about  baby  ?  " 

"Oh,  Jane  will  look  after  him.  She  likes  noth- 
ing better,  you  know."  Jane  was  the  girl  whom 
Mr.  Woodbury,  asserting  his  authority,  had  insisted 
on  his  wife's  keeping, — a  proceeding  severely  com- 
mented upon  by  Aunt  Betsy  and  old  Miss  Jewsbury 
as  an  extravagant  and  "up-setting"  proceeding. 

"  You  know  mother  will  be  very  glad  to  see  you, 
Selina,"  remarked  Mr.  Woodbury.  "You  are  a  favo- 
rite with  her,  and  she  loves  to  hear  you  sing." 

"  She  is  very  kind,  I  am  sure,"  said  Selina.  "  I  will 
go  some  other  time,  but  to-night  I  have  something  I 
want  to  do." 

"  I  hope  she  won't  go  into  Mrs.  Orme's,"  said 
Lizzy  as  they  walked  away. 

"  And  so  do  I.  The  fact  is,  Lizzy,  that  intimacy 
must  be  broken  up,  if  Selina  goes  home  to  do  it.  I 
don't  like  the  woman  ;  and  I  like  still  less  the  style 
of  visitors  she  has,  the  men  especially." 

"  Some   of  them    are   not  nice-looking,    certainly. 


3O2          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

However,  I  don't  think  Selina  has  ever  been  there 
when  Mrs.  Orme  has  had  company.  Well,  we  will 
think  about  it,  and  try  to  see  our  way.  I  rather  wish 
we  had  not  left  her  at  home  alone.  However,  I  don't 
believe  she  will  go  there  to-night." 

Nevertheless  Selina  did  go  to  Mrs.  Orme's.  She 
persuaded  herself  that  there  was  something  she  did 
not  understand  in  the  pattern  for  a  baby's  shoe  that 
Mrs.  Orme  had  lent  her,  and  that  it  was  necessary 
for  her  to  seek  information.  It  could  do  no  harm  to 
run  in  just  for  a  minute. 

Mrs.  Orme  received  her  with  open  arms,  and  intro- 
duced her  to  a  friend  of  her  own  from  Boston,  —  Mr. 
Pyncheon,  a  member  of  one  of  the  oldest  Beacon- 
street  families.  No,  she  said  playfully,  they  would 
not  waste  time  over  the  stupid  knitting ;  Mr.  Pynch- 
eon was  an  excellent  judge  of  music,  and  he  must 
hear  her  sing.  Mr.  Pyncheon  seconded  his  hostess. 
He  was  a  comparatively  young-looking  man,  with 
very  white  hair  and  whiskers.  He  delighte.d  Selina 
by  his  praise  of  her  music.  "  I  have  not  heard  such 
a  voice  since  I  lost  my  own  daughter,"  said  he. 
"  Miss  Weston  reminds  me  of  her." 

"  She  is  like  poor  Angelina,"  said  Mrs.  Orme.  "  I 
noticed  it  myself.  Isn't  it  a  shame,  Mr.  Pyncheon, 
that  such  a  voice  should  be  buried  in  the  wilds  of 
Oldfield,  and  never  heard  except  in  the  village  choir  ?" 

"  It  is  indeed.  Miss  Weston  ought  to  go  to  some 
of  the  great  German  schools.  Even  now  her  voice 
would  be  noticed  in  New  York." 

It  is  useless  to  repeat  any  more  of  the  compliments 
by  which  Selina  was  fooled  to  the  top  of  her  bent. 


JlfRS.   ORME.  303 

She  sang  song  after  song,  alone  and  with  Mrs.  Orme, 
till,  warned  by  the  striking  of  the  clock,  she  returned 
just  in  time  to  meet  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Woodbury  as  they 
returned  from  their  evening  visit.  Lizzy  was  greatly 
annoyed,  and  spoke  more  sharply  than  was  at  all 
common  with  her. 

"  I  only  went  in  to  get  a  pattern  Mrs.  Orme  prom- 
ised me,"  said  Selina,  restraining  herself  by  a  great 
effort.  "  Mrs.  Orme  had  some  new  music,  and  kept 
me  to  try  it.  I  am  sorry  you  are  vexed,  Lizzy;  but 
you  know  I  can't  break  off  with  her  all  at  once,  when 
she  has  been  so  kind  to  me  in  lending  me  music,  and 
so  on.  I  won't  go  there  if  you  don't  want  me  to, 
though  I  must  say  I  can't  see  any  harm  in  her." 

Already  sorry  for  her  severity,  Lizzy  said  no  more ; 
and  Selina,  warned  by  what  had  happened,  actually 
staid  away  from  Mrs.  Orme's  for  three  whole  days. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

TROUBLE  AT  HOME. 

"WHERE  have  you  been  all  this  time?"  said  Mrs. 
Orme  to  Selina,  waylaying  her  as  she  came  from  her 
music-lesson.  "  I  have  not  had  even  a  glimpse  of 
you." 

"  It  hasn't  been  my  fault,  Mrs.  Orme,"  answered 
Selina. 

"  Call  me  Eva,"  interrupted  her  friend  :  "  *  Mrs. 
Orme'  sounds  so  cold  and  formal.  Why  haven't  you 
been  in  ?  Mr.  Pyncheon  was  so  anxious  to  hear  you 
sing  again.  I  wanted  you  to  be  friends  with  him, 
Selina :  he  has  neither  chick  nor  child,  and  he  has  no 
end  of  money.  He  said,  after  you  went  out,  '  How  I 
wish  that  child  belonged  to  me !  I  should  be  so  glad 
to  give  her  a  first-rate  musical  education.' " 

"  Did  he  ? "  asked  Selina.  "  I  know  he  said  my  voice 
was  like  his  daughter's." 

"  Yes.  Poor  thing,  she  went  to  the  bad,  —  made 
a  runaway  match,  and  he  never  saw  her  afterward ; 
though  he  heard  that  she  died  somewhere  in  this 
neighborhood,  and  left  a  child.  It  was  that  brought 
him  to  Oldbury,  —  to  see  if  he  could  find  any  trace 
of  her.  Just  think,  Selina,  if  you  should  turn  out  to 
3°4 


TROUBLE  AT  HOME.  305 

be  Mr.  Pyncheon's  grand-daughter,  what  a  grand 
thing  for  you  !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  there  is  any  chance  of  that,"  said 
Selina.  "I  never  asked  any  questions  ;  but  I  always 
supposed  my  parents  lived  here,  and  were  very  poor 
people." 

"They  would  naturally  want  you  to  think  so," 
said  Mrs.  Orme  reflectively,  more  as  if  she  were 
addressing  herself  than  speaking  to  Selina.  Then, 
catching  herself  up,  "But  that  might  be  true  too. 
Poor  Matilda  married  beneath  her ;  as  I  said,  a  very 
common  sort  of  man,  —  her  father's  coachman,  in 
fact,  and  I  dare  say  she  might  have  died  very  poor. 
It  was  a  terrible  blow  to  her  parents,  and  fairly  killed 
her  mother.  After  the  first  natural  heat  of  his  anger 
was  over,  Mr.  Pyncheon  made  every  effort  to  find  his 
daughter,  but  without  success.  Then  he  went  abroad, 
and  has  just  come  home.  He  has  gone  back  to  Boston 
now,  but  when  he  returns  we  will  talk  to  him.  Come 
in  and  spend  the  evening  with  me!  I  have  a  lot  of 
new  songs  for  you  to  try." 

"  Mr.  Schultz  does  not  want  me  to  sing  any  more 
songs  just  now,"  replied  Selina.  "  He  has  given  me 
a  parcel  of  scales  and  exercises  to  practise." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Mrs.  Orme.  "  However,  singing 
scales  is  very  good  practice.  But  you  can  come  over 
and  see  me,  all  the  same." 

"  I  don't  believe  I  can,  but  I  will  see.  I  must  go 
now,  at  any  rate,  Mrs.  Orme,  —  Eva,  I  mean :  it  is 
dinner-time." 

"  Barbarous  hours  ! "  said  Mrs.  Orme.  "  Well,  good- 
by,  dear.  I  will  contrive  to  meet  you  somehow." 


306          OLD  HAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS, 

Selina  went  home  as  if  she  were  treading  on  air,  her 
imagination  all  on  fire  with  the  news  she  had  heard, 
and  the  brilliant  prospect  which  seemed  opening 
before  her.  As  she  said,  she  had  never  asked  about 
her  own  parents  ;  being  restrained  by  a  vague  feeling 
that  she  might  hear  something  she  would  not  like. 
It  was  pleasanter  to  dream  of  wealthy  and  distin- 
guished relatives  coming  to  claim  her,  than  to  know 
for  certain  that  her  mother  was  a  poor  laundress  or 
something  of  that  sort.  And  now  it  really  seemed  as 
if  her  day-dreams  were  coming  true.  Mr.  Pyncheon's 
grand-daughter !  Pyncheon  was  such  an  aristocratic 
name,  that  of  one  of  the  oldest  New-England  fami- 
lies. It  was  worth  while  to  have  such  an  ancestry  as 
that,  Selina  said  to  herself.  She  did  not  reflect  that 
this  grand  ancestry  had  not  kept  her  mother  from 
running  away  with  the  coachman,  who  certainly  could 
not  be  considered  a  very  aristocratic  connection  ;  still 
less  did  it  occur  to  her  to  suspect,  what  was  the  fact, 
that  Mrs.  Orme  had  invented  the  whole  story  to  serve 
her  own  purposes.  Mrs.  Orme  had  a  plan  with 
regard  to  Selina,  and  she  was  not  likely  to  spare  any 
amount  of  lying  needful  to  carry  it  out.  Selina  saw 
a  great  deal  of  her  for  the  next  week.  Old  Mrs. 
Woodbury  was  ailing ;  and,  as  she  had  no  own 
daughter,  Lizzy  naturally  devoted  as  much  time  as 
possible  to  waiting  upon  and  comforting  her  mother- 
in-law.  Whenever  she  went  out,  Mrs.  Orme  popped 
in,  or  called  Selina  into  her  own  house.  As  the  two 
grew  more  intimate,  Mrs.  Orme  was  more  off  her 
guard ;  and  she  did  and  said  some  things  which 
certainly  struck  Selina  as  peculiar.  For  example,  she 


TROUBLE   AT  HOME.  307 

drank  wine  and  beer  very  freely,  and  on  several  occa- 
sions there  was  an  odor  of  tobacco-smoke  about  the 
house  which  Selina  could  not  account  for.  Selina, 
who  had  been  brought  up  on  strict  total-abstinence 
principles,  ventured  to  remonstrate  ;  but  she  was  met 
with  a  torrent  of  ridicule,  which  speedily  silenced 
her. 

"  You  poor  little  chicken,  brought  up  in  a  coop 
among  the  daisies !  It  is  really  refreshing  to  meet 
with  such  innocence.  But  you  must  put  these  strait- 
laced  Puritanical  notions  out  of  your  head  before  you 
come  to  New  York,  or  we  shall  have  you  making  a 
laughing-stock  of  yourself.  Fancy  any  one  talking 
like  that  to  my  friend  Mrs.  Robert  Livingstone  on 
Fifth  Avenue !  Why,  the  wine  alone  at  Mrs.  Living- 
stone's last  lunch-party  cost  three  hundred  dollars." 

The  idea  of  making  herself  a  laughing-stock  to 
an  unknown  Mrs.  Livingstone  on  Fifth  Avenue  was 
enough  to  silence  Selina ;  but,  happily  for  her,  even 
the  name  of  that  great  lady  could  not  make  her 
break  her  Sunday-school  pledge  by  taking  the  glass 
of  champagne  Mrs.  Orme  urged  upon  her. 

"  I  can't,  Eva  ;  I  have  promised  not  to  touch  it,  and 
I  can't  break  my  word.". 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  have  promised,  of  course  that 
is  all  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Orme ;  adding  to  herself, 
"  I  will  drive  all  that  nonsense  out  of  you,  my  lady, 
before  I  have  had  you  long." 

But  Selina  was  not  destined  to  enjoy  any  longer 
the  dangerous  delights  of  Mrs.  Orme's  society.  The 
very  day  after  the  temperance  lecture,  Mr.  Bassett 
came  for  her.  Mr.  Weston  had  fallen  from  the  barn- 


308          OLD II AM;   OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

loft,  and  broken  his  leg.  It  was  a  bad  fracture ;  he 
was  perfectly  helpless,  and  Selina  must  come  home 
and  help  wait  upon  him.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  go  ;  and,  to  do  Selina  justice,  she  never  thought  of 
any  thing  else  till  she  ran  in  to  bid  Mrs.  Orme  good- 
by. 

"What  a  shame,"  said  that  lady,,  "to  take  you 
away  from  your  music  and  all,  just  to  wait  on  that 
old  farmer,  who  is  not  related  to  you !  " 

"  I  should  not  have  had  many  mtfsic-lessons  only 
for  that  old  farmer,  as  you  call  him,"  said  Selina  in- 
dignantly, her  better  nature  roused  for  the  moment. 

"Well,  don't  be  angry.  I  did  not  mean  any  dis- 
respect," said  Mrs.  Orme,  perceiving  she  had  overshot 
her  mark.  "  Of  course  it  is  very  kind  and  self- 
sacrificing  in  you  to  go.  I  suppose  you  will  be  back 
before  long." 

"  I  can't  tell.  It  will  depend  upon  how  father  is. 
Good-by,  Eva;  I  must  not  keep  Mr.  Bassett  waiting." 

"Don't  you  want  something  to  read  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Orme,  hastily  gathering  together  and  tying  up  a  quan- 
tity of  paper  books,  with  which  her  room  was  always 
strewed. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  shall  have  much  time  to  read, 
but  I  will  take  them,"  replied  Selina.  "  Good-by,  Eva, 
and  thank  you  for  all  your  kindness." 

"  Good-by,  dear,  till  I  see  you  again.  I  shall  write 
to  you.  And  see  here,  Selina  ;  don't  hamper  yourself 
by  any  more  pledges  and  promises.  And  I  wouldn't 
say  any  thing  about  Mr.  Pyncheon,  if  I  were  you. 
Your  friends  would  not  like  it,  and  might  put  obsta- 
cles in  your  way.  And  you  must  see,  that,  if  he 


TROUBLE  AT  HOME.  309 

is  really  your  grandfather,  he  has  the  best  right  to 
you." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Selina.  "  I  really  must  go,  Eva. 
Good-by." 

Selina  could  not  restrain  her  tears  as  she  took  her 
seat  in  the  miller's  comfortable  carriage  ;  and  Mr. 
Bassett,  respecting  her  grief,  was  silent  for  the  first 
mile  or  two.  By  that  time  Selina  had  recovered  her 
self-control,  and  began  to  ask  questions. 

"  Is  Miss  Armstrong  at  our  house  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  Ma  wanted  her  to  come  to  us,  and  Mrs. 
Van  Zandt  sent  for  her  up  there; 'but  she  left  it  to 
your  ma,  and  she  said  Miss  Armstrong  made  no 
trouble  in  the  house,  and  was  such  a  comfort  she 
couldn't  bear  to  part  with  her." 

"Well,  I  wonder  she  should  care  to  stay,"  said 
Selina.  "  She  and  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  are  such  great 
friends,  and  she  would  be  much  more  comfortable  up 
there."  r- 

"Miss  Armstrong  isn't  the  woman  to  be  always 
thinking  first  of  her  own  comfort,"  replied  Mr.  Bas- 
sett. "  She  and  I  together  took  care  of  your  pa  last 
night,  and  persuaded  your  ma  to  go  to  bed ;  and  a 
better  nurse  I  never  saw.  She  knows  where  to  put 
her  hand  every  time.  Symantha  Mallory  was  down 
in  the  afternoon  to  see  if  there  was  any  thing  she 
could  do." 

"  I  should  not  think  mother  would  care  to  have 
her  about,"  said  Selina. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  think  there  is  any  harm  in 
Symantha.  Every  one  agrees  that  she  took  good 
care  of  her  stepmother;  and  she  keeps  Kit  just  as 


3IO          OLDHAM;    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

neat  as  a  pin,  though  she  hasn't  much  to  do  with,  I 
fancy,  for  Phin  isn't  going  on  very  well.  Kit  comes 
to  church  and  Sunday  school  regularly  now  ;  and  ma 
says  she  never  had  a  better  scholar,  only  she  asks 
such  queer  questions.  We  have  another  new  scholar, 
too,  — a  great  friend  of  yours." 

"You  don't  mean  Milly  Richmond!"  exclaimed 
Selina.  "  What  brings  her  to  Sunday  school,  of  all 
people  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,  unless  she  wants  to  learn 
something.  I  can't  think  how  she  has  grown  up  to 
know  so  little  about  the  Bible.  Poor  Kit  is  a  good 
Bible  scholar  compared  to  her.  But  she  behaves 
very  well,  I  must  say  that  for  her,  and  seems  inter- 
ested in  her  lessons." 

"  I  should  not  think  Mrs.  Richmond  would  allow 
it,"  said  Selina,  "she  is  so  very  liberal  in  her  views." 

"  So  liberal  that  she  doesn't  want  her  daughter  to 
have  any  opinion  of  her  own,  eh  ?  Isn't  that  a  funny 
kind  of  liberality  ? " 

"  Perhaps  so.  But  I  have  heard  her  say  that  she 
did  not  wish  to  bring  up  her  daughters  to  any  reli- 
gion ;  when  they  were  old  enough,  they  could  choose 
for  themselves." 

"That  might  do,  perhaps,  if  trouble  and  death 
would  only  wait  till  people  are  grown  up,"  remarked 
Mr.  Bassett.  "But  they  don't,  as  Mrs.  Richmond 
ought  to  know  by  this  time.  Poor  Cordelia  is  fail- 
ing fast,  as  Mrs.  Gleason  thinks ;  but  her  mother 
won't  allow  it  at  all." 

"I  suppose  Agnes  was  confirmed  last  Sunday." 

"  Yes ;  and  her  mother  too,  and  Sarah  Leet,  and 


TROUBLE  A  T  HOME.  3 1 1 

my  Abner,  and  about  ten  more.  It  was  a  blessed 
day,  I  can  tell  you.  We  all  wished  you  were  there, 
Selina." 

"What  makes  you  turn  up  this  way  ?"  asked  Selina 
as  Mr.  Bassett  turned  his  horses  into  a  cross-road. 

"  Well,  it  cuts  off  quite  a  piece  of  the  distance, 
and  it  is  good  enough  this  time  of  year.  It  is  rather 
lonesome,  but  we  needn't  mind  that  as  long  as  we 
take  daylight  with  us." 

"I  don't  mind  it:  I  like  it,"  said  Selina,  "the 
woods  are  so  pretty.  Do  you  think  father  will  be 
laid  up  long  ?  " 

"Well,  yes,  I'm  afraid  he'll  have  a  tedious  time. 
You  see,  he  is  getting  an  elderly  man  ;  and,  beside 
the  broken  bone,  it  was  a  pretty  severe  shake  for 
him.  I  hope  he  will  get  well,  I'm  sure ;  for,  beside 
the  blow  to  his  own  family,  he  would  be  a  dreadful 
loss  to  the  neighborhood.  But  he  is  in  the  Lord's 
hands,  my  girl,  and  there  we  must  leave  him." 

"  How  is  mother?" 

"Just  what  she  ought  to  be,  neither  more  nor 
less,"  said  Mr.  Bassett  with  emphasis  :  "never  think- 
ing about  herself,  always  doing  and  saying  the  right 
thing  at  the  right  time.  I'll  tell  you  what,  Selina,  if 
you  don't  turn  out  a  good  girl,  you'll  have  a  great 
deal  to  answer  for.  Never  girl  had  a  better  father 
and  mother  than  you  have,  nor  a  pleasanter  home." 

"Well,  I  hope  I  shall  turn  out  a  good  girl,"  said 
Selina.  "Why  should  you  think  I  won't,  Mr.  Bas- 
sett ?  I  don't  think  I  have  been  a  very  bad  girl  so 
far." 

"I  don't  say  you  have, — far  from  it,"  answered 


312          OLD  HAM;    OR,   RESIDE   ALL    WATERS, 

Mr.  Bassett.  "  Only,  if  you'll  excuse  my  plain  speak- 
ing, Selina,  I  don't  think  you  have  always  appreciated 
your  advantages.  But  then,  none  of  us  do  that ;  and 
perhaps  it  isn't  to  be  expected  of  young  folks.  I 
tell  my  boys,  sometimes,  I  believe  they  think  money 
grows  on  bushes,  like  blueberries." 

"  How  did  Miss  Van  Zandt  get  on  with  the 
school  ? "  asked  Selina,  willing  to  turn  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  Oh,  famously, — as  well  as  Miss  Armstrong  her- 
self. That  young  lady  has  a  genius  for  other  things 
beside  music.  She  knows  how  to  teach  what  she 
has  learned.  The  children  think  her  perfection." 

"Yes,  she  gets  on  nicely  with  little  ones,"  said 
Selina.  "  She  knows  how  to  amuse  them,  and  she  is 
so  childish  herself  she  is  like  a  companion  to  them." 

"Childlike,  if  you  choose,  not  childish,"  replied 
the  miller.  "There  is  a  difference." 

"I  don't  see  it." 

"  Well,  it  seems  others  do.  St.  Paul  says,  when  he 
became  a  man  he  put  away  childish  things ;  but  our 
Lord  says  we  must  become  as  little  children,  or  we 
cannot  enter  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  There  is  just 
the  same  difference  between  'childish'  and  'child- 
like' as  between  'womanish'  and  'womanly.'  'Wom- 
anish '  implies  all  the  weakness,  and  'womanly 'all 
the  strength,  of  a  woman.  Miss  Van  Zandt  has  all 
the  simple,  frank,  unaffected  ways  of  a  nice  child. 
She  never  seems  to  think  whether  any  one  is  looking 
at  her  or  not." 

"  There  it  goes  !  "  thought  Selina.  "  I  never  was 
so  tired  of  any  one's  name  in  my  life." 


TROUBLE  AT  HOME.  313 

"Isn't  there  some  one  on  the  road  there  before 
us,  Selina?"  said  Mr.  Bassett.  "I  am  rather  short- 
sighted, and  I  have  forgotten  my  glasses." 

"Yes,  two  men  ;  one  looks  like  Phin  Mallory,"  said 
Selina,  bending  forward  to  look.  "  Yes,  it  is  Phin 
Mallory.  There,  they  have  turned  into  the  woods. 
Why  ! "  exclaimed  Selina  in  a  tone  of  great  surprise, 
and  then  she  checked  herself. 

"Why,  what?" 

"  I  thought  the  man  with  him  looked  like  a  gen- 
tleman I  saw  in  Oldbury ;  but  it  couldn't  be,  of 
course." 

"  Well,  they  won't  interfere  with  us,"  said  Mr.  Bas- 
sett, They  had  now  come  to  the  place  where  the 
two  men  had  disappeared,  and  discovered  Phin  in  the 
act  of  lighting  a  cigar ;  but  nothing  was  to  be  seen 
of  his  companion. 

"  Halloo,  Phin !  Have  a  ride  ?  "  said  the  miller, 
pulling  up. 

"  No,  thank'ee,  Mr.  Bassett ;  I'm  going  up  through 
the  woods  to  look  for  a  stray  critter  of  mine.  You 
didn't  see  him,  did  you, — a  red  steer  with  a  ball  on 
one  horn  ? " 

"  I  saw  him  in  your  pasture-lot  when  I  drove  by, 
this  morning." 

"  All  right,  then  :  he  has  got  home  before  me.  No, 
thank'ee,  I  won't  ride.  My  cigar  might  annoy  the 
young  lady.  How's  the  squire  ?  " 

"  Much  about  the  same,  only  his  head  is  all  right 
to-day." 

"Tell  his  folks  I'll  come  and  sit  up  any  night.  I 
used  to  be  reckoned  a  good  hand  in  sickness." 


314          OL3HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"I  dare  say.  I'll  tell  Mrs.  Weston.  Well,  good- 
by,  if  you  won't  ride.  Take  care  of  that  cigar  of 
yours  in  the  woods,  for  every  thing  is  as  dry  as  tin- 
der. By  the  way,  who  was  that  you  were  talking 
with  just  before  we  came  up?" 

"Talking  with?  Nobody,"  replied  Phin  with  a 
curious  tremor  in  his  voice.  "  Oh,  yes :  a  tramp 
asked  me  the  way  to  the  village.  You'll  pass  him 
farther  on,  I  dare  say." 

"  Poor  Phin !  he  has  good  streaks  in  him,  after  all," 
said  Mr.  Bassett  as  they  drove  on.  "  They  say  he 
was  kind  to  his  wife.  And  it  was  neighborly  in  him 
to  offer  to  sit  up  with  your  pa.  You  might  have 
thanked  him,  Selina." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  something  else,"  said  Selina, 
with  perfect  truth.  It  could  not  be  possible,  she 
thought,  and  yet  certainly  the  man  she  had  seen 
talking  with  Phin  Mallory  bore  a  very  strong  resem- 
blance to  Mrs.  Orme's  aristocratic  Boston  friend, 
Mr.  Pyncbeon. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

OLDHAM    AFFAIRS. 

WITH  the  atmosphere  of  home,  Selina's  better  na- 
ture revived  for  a  time.  The  sight  of  her  father's 
resolutely  endured  suffering,  and  of  her  mother's 
pale,  cheerful,  patient  face,  brought  back  the  old  re- 
spect and  affection.  Then,  she  felt  herself  to  be  a 
person  of  consequence ;  and  that  was  agreeable  to 
her,  as  it  is  to  most  people.  She  took  the  whole  care 
of  the  dairy,  and  most  of  the  housekeeping,  off  her 
mother's  hands,  and  attended  to  it  with  an  efficiency 
and  quietness  which  equally  pleased  and  surprised 
Mrs.  Weston.  She  spoke  of  the  matter  to  Miss 
Armstrong. 

"  I  always  thought  Selina  had  great  capabilities," 
said  Miss  Armstrong.  "  All  she  needs  is,  to  forget 
herself ;  and  you  see  she  can  do  so  when  the  motive 
is  strong  enough.  Certainly  her  style  of  doing  things 
is  very  unlike  Mariette's.  I  shall  never  have  any 
opinion  of  that  girl  again." 

For  Mariette  had  taken  herself  home  at  the  very 
beginning  of  the  trouble,  alleging,  as  an  excuse,  that 
she  never  could  endure  to  be  where  there  was  sick- 
ness, it  made  her  feel  so  bad  to  see  any  one  suffer. 

3'5 


3l6         OLDHAM;    OR,  BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  What  can  you  expect  ? "  said  Mrs.  Weston. 
"Those  girls  have  been  brought  up  to  think  of  noth- 
ing on  earth  but  pleasing  themselves,  —  having  a 
good  time,  as  they  say  ;  and  no  better  motive  than 
self-pleasing  has  ever  been  put  before  them.  The 
notion  of  duty  has  never  entered  their*  heads.  Their 
aunt  is  just  the  same.  When  she  was  young,  she 
found  pleasure  in  finery  and  such  dissipation  as 
came  within  her  reach.  Now  she  finds  it  in  the 
laudanum-bottle.  I  do  think  that  a  passion  for  dress 
and  amusement  is  almost  as  ruinous  to  women  as 
drink  is  to  men." 

"  You  might  say  so  if  you  had  seen  what  I  have," 
replied  Miss  Armstrong.  "  More  girls  are  utterly 
destroyed  by  the  passion  for  finery  than  from  any 
other  one  cause." 

Selina  had  begun  by  heartily  wishing  Miss  Arm- 
strong away;  and  she  had  even  ventured,  in  her 
mother's  absence,  to  give  some  broad  hints  that  she 
thought  Miss  Armstrong  would  be  much  more  com- 
fortable somewhere  else,  and,  in  fact,  that  her  room 
would  be  better  than  her  company.  But  Miss  Arm- 
strong paid  no  attenton  to  these  hints.  She  knew 
that  her  presence  in  the  house  added  nothing  to  the 
work,  and  was  a  comfort  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston, 
for  whom  she  had  conceived  a  very  earnest  friend- 
ship. She  was  very  careful  not  to  interfere  with 
Selina  in  any  way,  and  to  lighten  her  labors  when- 
ever it  was  possible ;  and  by  degrees  Selina  became 
reconciled  to  her  presence,  and  even  admitted  to 
herself  that  Miss  Armstrong  was  a  great  help  in  the 
sick-room.  She  had  been  at  home  more  than  a  week, 


OLDHAM  AFFAIRS.  317 

and  Mr.  Weston  had  been  pronounced  out  of  danger, 
when  Mrs.  Weston  called  Selina  into  the  dairy,  or 
milk-room  as  they  call  it  in  those  parts. 

"Daughter,  suppose  you  take  a  pitcher  of  this  nice 
buttermilk  up  to  Cordelia  Richmond,"  said  she. 
"Mrs.  Gleason  was  telling  me  yesterday  that  it  is 
almost  the  only  thing  the  poor  child  fancies.  It  will 
be  a  nice  walk  for  you,  and  you  can  stay  and  have  a 
visit  with  the  girls." 

"Well,  I  will,"  answered  Selina.  "I  have  not 
seen  Milly  since  I  came  home.  And  I  will  come 
round  by  the  post-office,  and  get  the  mail.  What  do 
you  think  of  my  churning,  mother?" 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  answered  her  mother.  "  I  don't 
see  but  I  may  give  up  the  care  of  the  milk  to  you 
altogether,  Selina :  you  manage  every  thing  as  well 
as  I  could,  myself.  But  you  must  let  Jerry  lift  the 
pails  for  you.  God  bless  you,  my  child !  You  are  a 
great  comfort  to  us." 

Selina  took  up  her  jug  of  buttermilk,  and  went  on 
her  way,  well  satisfied  with  herself  and  with  all  the 
world.  She  found  Milly  and  Agnes  sitting  together 
on  the  porch,  their  heads  closely  bent  over  a  large 
book  which  they  held  between  them,  and  their  atten- 
tion so  absorbed  that  they  did  not  hear  her  till  she 
spoke  to  them. 

"  What  in  the  world  are  you  so  busy  with  ?  "  asked 
Selina.  "  You  started,  when  I  spoke,  as  if  you  had 
been  shot." 

"  Studying  in  my  grandfather's  old  '  Matthew 
Henry,' "  answered  Agnes,  closing  the  volume,  and 
laying  it  aside. 


318          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  That  is  something  new  for  you,  Milly.  You  did 
not  use  to  care  much  about  the  Bible." 

"  No,"  answered  Milly  with  none  of  the  embar- 
rassment which  Selina  had  expected,  and  perhaps 
had  hoped  to  see.  "  One  doesn't  care  for  things  thai 
one  knows  nothing  about ;  but  I  am  beginning  to  find 
out  that  it  is  worth  reading  as  a  story-book,  if  for  noth- 
ing more.  What  have  you  in  that  pretty  old  blue- 
and-white  pitcher  ?  If  mother  sees  it,  you  will  hardly 
get  it  back.  She  has  a  mania  for  blue-and-white." 

"  It  is  a  very  old  pitcher,  but  I  never  supposed 
there  was  any  thing  precious  about  it,"  replied  Se- 
lina. "  It  is  only  earthenware,  not  china." 

"  Only  earthenware  !  Just  hear  her !  Lovely  old 
Liverpool  blue,  and  an  American  piece  at  that.  Do 
let  me  look  at  it.  See,  Agnes,  here  is  the  State-house 
on  one  side,  and  —  let  me  see  what — actually  Fan- 
euil  Hall  on  the  other." 

"  Don't  spill  Cordelia's  buttermilk  in  your  admira- 
tion of  the  pitcher.  It  is  just  churned,  and  mother 
thought  she  might  like  it.  How  is  she  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  that  she  is  a  bit  better,  though  mother 
thinks  so,"  answered  Milly  sadly.  "I  think  she  fails 
all  the  time.  She  likes  the  buttermilk,  and  it  seems 
to  suit  her.  I  am  ever  so  much  obliged,  Selina." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  very  welcome.  I  wish  I  could 
do  more  than  that  for  her,  poor  thing." 

"There  is  one  thing  I  wish  you  or  some  one  would 
do  for  her,"  said  Milly  as  Agnes  carried  away  the 
blue  jug  to  dispose  of  its  contents,  "and  that  is,  to 
persuade  mother  to  let  Cordelia  see  a  minister.  The 
poor  child  wants  it  so  much!" 


OLDHAM  AFFAIRS.  319 

"  Why,  won't  your  mother  allow  it  ?  "  asked  Selina. 

"No,  she  won't  hear  of  it.1  She  would  not  see 
Mr.  Brace  herself  when  he  called.  I  was  in  hopes 
Dr.  Madison  would  come,  but  he  has  gone  back  to 
New  York.  I' think  perhaps  mother  would  have  seen 
him  for  the  fashion  of  the  thing." 

"  Miss  Armstrong  told  me  she  called  to  see  Cor- 
delia, but  your  mother  said  she  was  not  fit  to  receive 
company." 

"  I  believe  it  was  for  the  same  reason.  She  is  so 
afraid  some  one  will  say  a  word  to  Cordelia  about  dy- 
ing. She  won't  let  Agnes,  or  even  Mrs.  Gleason,  stay 
with  her.  I  read  the  Bible  to  her,  and  she  likes  it ; 
but  of  course  there  is  a  great  deal  I  can't  explain." 

"Is  she  afraid  of  dying?" 

"  Not  always.  She  said  to-day,  if  she  could  know 
her  sins  were  forgiven,  she  should  be  happy;  but  she 
does  not  see  how  she  can  be  sure,  so  Agnes  and  I 
were  looking  out  the  texts  about  it.  I'm  sure  I 
should  like  to  comfort  her  if  I  could,  poor  thing.  Do 
sit  down  a  little,  Selina.  I  have  hardly  seen  you 
since  you  came  home,  and  I  want  to  hear  what  kind 
of  time  you  had  in  Oldbury." 

"  Here  is  your  pitcher,  Selina.  But  you  will  have 
to  excuse  me,"  said  Agnes,  re-appearing  :  "  my  bread 
has  come  up  so  suddenly  that  I  must  mould  it  up 
directly,  or  it  will  be  running  over." 

"  Why,  where  is  your  mother  ?  " 

"  She  has  gone  up  to  see  Patience  Fletcher,  who  is 
sick  in  bed." 

1  I  wish  this  were  an  exaggeration  ;  but  it  is  a  literal  fact,  occurring  within 
my  own  knowledge. 


32O          OLDHAM ;    OA',   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  Is  she  ?     What  is  the  matter  ? " 

"  Only  overwork,  the  doctor  says.  You  know  she 
always  would  do  every  thing  herself,  —  never  would 
let  Faith  or  any  one  help  her,  for  fear  they  would  not 
set  all  the  teacups  with  the  handles  the  same  way  ; 
so  now  she  can't  set  them  up  at  all.  Martha  Jane 
Kettle  is  staying  there  to  help,  and  she  told  me  she 
wouldn't  mind  the  work  a  bit  if  only  Patience  wouldn't 
fret  so." 

"  Does  she  surfer  so  much  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  that.  She  bears  her  pain  like  a  mar- 
tyr ;  but  she  is  so  afraid  Martha  Jane  won't  do  every 
thing  just  in  her  way,  though  she  is  as  neat  as  wax, 
and  a  splendid  cook.  Martha  Jane  said  to  her  one 
day,  '  See  here,  Miss  Patience,  if  you  was  in  heaven, 
do  you  think  you  would  be  worrying  about  the  work 
all  the  time  ? '  And  Patience  said,  No,  she  supposed 
not.  'Well,  then,'  says  Martha  Jane,  'try  to  think 
you  are  in  heaven,  and  leave  me  and  Faith  to  man- 
age the  things  on  earth.'  But  there,  I  must  go  ;  my 
bread  will  be  walking  about  the  floor.  Stay  to  tea, 
Selina,  and  see  what  nice  rolls  I'll  have  for  yon." 

"  So  you  are  really  going  to  Sunday  school,  Milly," 
said  Selina  when  they  were  left  alone. 

"  I  really  am  ;  and,  what  is  more,  I  like  it." 

"Whose  class  are  you  in  ?" 

"  Miss  Celia  Claxton's,  only  old  Mrs.  Van  Zandt 
has  it  now." 

"Oh,"  said  Selina,  as  who  should  say,  "Now  I 
understand."  Milly  colored. 

"  Yes,  that  was  it  exactly,  to  begin  with,"  said  she 
frankly :  "  I  did  want  to  be  acquainted  with  the  Van 


OLD  HAM  AFFAIRS.  321 

Zandts,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  a  good  way  to 
bring  it  about.  So,  when  I  heard  that  Miss  Celia 
had  gone  to  Elmfield  for  a  month  or  so,  and  Mrs. 
Van  Zandt  had  taken  the  class,  I  told  Agnes  I  would 
go  with  her." 

"  A  fine  motive  for  going  to  Sunday  school,  I  must 
say,"  said  Selina  sarcastically. 

"Wasn't  it?  Well,  that  was  the  beginning;  but  I 
got  interested  in  spite  of  myself.  Madam  Van  Zandt 
makes  every  thing  so  real ;  and  she  was  very  kind  to 
me,  and  made  me  feel  so  mean  —  that  wasn't  nice,  a 
bit,  I  can  tell  you.  So,  one  day  when  she  walked 
home,  I  walked  with  her;  and  then  I  just  told  her  all 
about  it." 

"Amelia  Richmond!  you  didn't." 

"I  did,  then,  just  as  I  am  telling  you." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you  all,  only  she  was  just  as  good 
as  she  could  be,  and  didn't  despise  me  as  I  was  afraid 
she  would.  She  talked  about  the  danger  of  loving 
the  world,  and  how  little  it  was  worth,  after  all." 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  well  for  her  to  say  so,  when  she 
has  every  thing  that  money  can  buy,"  interrupted 
Selina. 

"  But  think  how  many  things  money  can't  buy, 
Selina.  It  can't  give  her  back  all  the  children  she 
has  lost.  Just  think!  nine  children  she  has  had,  and 
not  one  left.  All  the  money  in  the  world  won't  make 
Cordelia  well  again.  Well,  I  can't  tell  you  all  she 
said,  but  she  asked  me  to  keep  on  coming ;  and  I 
have,  because  I  like  it,  as  I  said.  And,  after  all, 
Selina,  if  religion  is  any  thing,  as  Agnes  says,  it  must 
be  every  thing." 


322          OLDIIAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

tl  What  does  your  mother  say  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  she  likes  it  very  well  ;  but  it  is  Mrs. 
Van  Zandt,  so  she  won't  say  I  shall  not  go." 

"  And  do  you  really  mean  to  be  a  Christian  out  and 
out  ? " 

"That  is  just  the  point.  You  see,  if  I  do,  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  have  to  give  up  a  great  many  things 
that  I  should  like  to  keep.  To  be  sure,  I  know  a 
great  many  church-members  who  are  just  as  gay  as 
those  who  are  not ;  but  I  could  not  be  like  that.  It 
would  be  all  or  nothing,  with  me.  But  now  tell  me 
about  yourself.  Did  you  have  a  nice  time?  Your 
mother  said  you  had  made  a  great  friend  of  some 
New- York  lady.  Who  was  she  ?  " 

Selina  poured  out  the  story  of  her  intimacy  with 
Mrs.  Orme.  Milly  listened  seriously  ;  but,  when  Se- 
lina came  to  the  story  of  Mrs.  Robert  Livingstone's 
lunch-party,  she  broke  out,  — 

"  Nonsense,  Selina  !  The  Robert  Livingstones  are 
the  most  strait-laced  temperance  people  in  the  world, 
and  never  give  wine  at  all.  Mrs.  Livingstone  gives 
beautiful  lunch-parties, — or  so  I  have  heard,  for  of 
course  I  never  went  to  one :  she  is  a  long  way  above 
our  mark,  —  but  every  one  knows  how  they  feel  about 
wine." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  some  other  Mrs.  Robert  Living- 
stone," said  Selina.  "Mrs.  Orme  said  they  lived  on 
the  corner  of  Fifth  Avenue  and  Nth  Street." 

"  It  is  the  very  same,  but  I  don't  believe  she  ever 
visited  them.  She  has  been  humbugging  you,"  said 
Milly  with  her  usual  bluntness.  "  Did  she  bring  any 
letters  of  introduction,  or  any  such  thing?  " 


OLD II AM  AFFAIRS.  323 

"  Not  that  I  ever  heard  of.  The  ladies  in  Oldbury 
don't  like  her,  and  don't  visit  her  much  ;  but  she  has 
a  good  deal  of  company,  —  gentlemen  friends  from 
New  York." 

"  And  she  has  asked  you  to  spend  the  winter  with 
her  ? " 

"Yes ;  and  she  says  she  will  give  me  every  advan- 
tage of  lessons  from  the  best  masters,  and  introduce 
me  to  all  her  friends  in  society." 

"Well,  Selina,"  said  Milly  seriously,  "if  you  will 
take  my  advice,  you  will  let  this  Mrs.  Orme  alone  ;  at 
least,  till  you  know  something  more  about  her.  I 
must  say  I  don't  think  it  very  nice  for  her  to  try  to 
get  you  to  leave  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston  for  her.  And, 
as  to  society,  you  had  better  know  what  kind  of  so- 
ciety she  keeps.  She  may  be  the  mistress  of.  a  beer- 
garden,  for  aught  you  know." 

An  uncomfortable  remembrance  of  Mr.  Schultz's 
remarks  upon  Mrs.  Orme's  singing  returned  to  Se- 
lina's  mind,  and  kept  her  silent.  In  truth,  since  she 
had  been  away  from  Mrs.  Orme's  personal  influence, 
a  good  many  things  in  that  lady's  conduct  and  con- 
versation had  come  back  to  her  in  a  new  light,  espe- 
cially when  she  compared  her  with  Miss  Armstrong 
and  the  Van  Zandts.  The  dreams  of  life  in  New 
York  as  Mrs.  Orme's  guest,  or  in  Boston  as  Mr. 
Pyncheon's  grand-daughter,  had  been  too  agreeable 
to  be  at  once  relinquished  ;  but  they  had  been  of  late 
gradually  fading  away  in  the  clear,  bright  light  of  her 
refined  Christian  home. 

Certain  misgivings  had  arisen  in  her  mind  as  to 
the  gentlemen  she  had  met  at  Mrs.  Orme's,  and  the 


324          OLD  HAM ;    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

way  in  which  Mrs.  Orme  treated  them  and  was  treat- 
ed by  them.  Milly's  plain-spoken  remarks  chimed  in 
with  these  same  misgivings,  and  irritated  her  accord- 
ingly. 

"  You  have  taken  up  the  true  Olclham  cant,  Milly," 
said  she:  "'I  don't  know  her,  therefore  she  must  be 
bad/  " 

" '  I  doirt  know  her,  therefore  I  won't  be  intimate 
with  her,'  would  be  a  better  way  of  putting  it," 
answered  Milly,  not  in  the  least  ruffled.  "But, 
Selina,  I  don't  think  your  father  and  mother  would 
let  you  go  ;  at  least,  till  they  know  more  about  this 
Mrs.  Orme.  Have  you  said  any  thing  about  it  to 
them?" 

"No,  of  course  not.  It  would  be  a  nice  time  to 
talk  about  it  now,  wouldn't  it  ?  What  do  you  take 
me  for  ? " 

"  For  a  goose,"  was  Milly's  inward  reply,  but  she 
did  not  utter  it.  She  was  silent  a  moment,  and  then 
turned  the  conversation  into  another  channel  by  in- 
quiring about  Selina's  musical  studies.  The  seed 
which  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  had  sowed  in  Milly's  heart  had 
already  brought  forth  fruit  in  the  shape  of  some 
consideration  for  the  feelings  of  other  people. 

"  I  must  go,  Milly,"  said  Selina,  starting  as  the 
clock  struck  five.  "  I  have  to  go  to  the  village  on 
my  way  home." 

"  I  wish  you  could  stay  to  tea." 

"  I  wish  so  too  ;  but,  you  see,  I  have  the  care  of 
the  dairy  now.  Come  and  see  me." 

"  I  will.  I  would  walk  part  of  the  way  with  you, 
but  Cordelia  is  sure  to  ask  for  me  the  minute  she 


OLD II AM  AFFAIRS.  325 

wakes.  She  has  taken  a  great  liking  to  me,  poor 
thing ;  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  why,  for  I  have  never 
been  very  kind  to  her." 

Selina  was  not  very  sorry  to  be  left  to  a  solitary 
walk.  She  had  been  vexed  at  Milly's  remarks  about 
Mrs.  Orme,  and,  as  I  have  already  said,  all  the  more 
because  they  chimed  in  with  her  own  misgivings. 

"  But  I  don't  care,  I  will  believe  in  her  anyhow," 
she  said  to  herself.  "  Milly  says  that  the  Living- 
stones are  above  their  mark,  and  I  dare  say  Eva 
knows  more  about  them  than  she  does.  I  do  hope  I 
shall  have  a  letter  from  her  !  " 

Selina's  hope  was  destined  to  fulfilment.  She 
found  a  long  letter  from  Mrs.  Orme,  written  on  the 
most  elegant  perfumed  paper,  in  the  most  fashion- 
able of  hands,  —  so  very  scratchy  and  sharp-pointed, 
indeed,  as  to  be  almost  illegible.  She  took  the  short 
way  home,  which  led  through  a  somewhat  deep  and 
shady  ravine  by  the  side  of  the  river.  Once  in  the 
shadow  of  the  woods,  she  walked  along  reading  her 
letter.  It  was  full  of  protestations  of  affection.  Mrs. 
Orme  told  how  she  missed  her  young  friend,  and 
how  she  longed  for  the  time  when  she  should  have 
that  same  young  friend  all  to  herself.  "  Of  course 
you  cannot  leave  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston,  as  things  are 
at  present,"  she  wrote  ;  "  but  it  is  absurd  to  think  of 
your  being  bound  to  them  forever.  The  idea  of  a 
girl  of  your  sort  being  bound  an  apprentice !  The 
very  idea  is  degrading  ;  and  your  own  self-respect, 
if  nothing  else,  ought  to  make  you  throw  off  such  a 
yoke,  laid  upon  you  without  your  own  consent.  To 
think  of  my  noble,  beautiful  Selina  apprenticed  like 


326          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

a  boy  from  the  workhouse  put  out  to  learn  a  trade  !  " 
There  was  much  more  to  the  same  effect  in  Mrs. 
Orme's  letter,  which  filled  no  less  than  three  sheets 
of  paper. 

Selina  had  always  known  that  she  had  been  legally 
bound  to  Mr.  Weston  at  the  time  of  her  adoption, 
—  a  precaution  usually  very  advisable  in  such  cases. 
It  had  never  occurred  to  her  to  think  of  this  bind- 
ing as  any  degradation,  or  as  any  thing  more  than  a 
legal  form,  always  observed  when  a  child  was  put  out 
from  the  Oldbury  asylum.  Now,  as  she  read  Mrs. 
Orme's  letter,  her  cheeks  flamed  ;  and  she  clenched 
her  hands,  and  stamped  her  foot,  in  shame  and  anger. 

"  I  am  a  slave,  —  that  is  the  truth.  Mother  scolds 
me  for  calling  myself  a  hired  girl,  but  it  seems  I  am 
not  even  that.  But  I  won't  endure  it :  I  will  never 
be  a  slave,  never!  I  wonder  why  Eva  does  not  say 
a  word  about  Mr.  Pyncheon." 

As  she  spoke,  Selina  came  to  where  the  path  made 
a  sudden  turn  round  a  projecting  angle  of  the  rocky 
bank.  As  she  did  so  she  started  violently ;  for  she 
stood  face  to  face  with  a  man,  and  that  man  was 
Mr.  Pyncheon  himself.  For  a  moment  he  seemed  as 
startled  as  herself;  then  he  recovered  his  presence 
of  mind. 

"  My  dear  Miss  —  I  beg  pardon,  I  have  forgotten 
the  name ;  but  I  am  sure  I  met  you  in  Oldbury." 

"  Miss  Weston,"  said  Selina ;  feeling,  as  she  spoke, 
a  pang  of  mortification  that  Mr.  Pyncheon  should 
have  forgotten  her  already.  "Have  you  seen  Mrs. 
Orme  lately?  I  have  just  received  a  letter  from 
her." 


OLD  HAM  AFFAIRS.  327 

"  Mrs.  Orme  ?  Oh,  yes,  our  friend  in  Oldbury,"  said 
Mr.  Pyncheon,  recovering  his  usual  ease,  not  to  say 
freedom,  of  manner.  "That  was  where  I  met  you. 
No,  I  have  not  seen  her  in  some  time.  Did  you  say 
you  had  a  letter  from  her?  I  hope  she  is  well." 

"She  is  very  well,"  answered  Selina.  "I  wonder 
she  did  not  tell  me  you  had  returned.  Are  you  stay- 
ing at  Oldbury  ? " 

"  No  —  yes,  for  a  day  or  two.  I  drove  over  with 
a  friend  who  will  be  waiting  for  me,  so  I  must  ask 
you  to  excuse  me.  Perhaps  we  shall  meet  again  at 
Mrs.  Orme's.  Good-afternoon." 

He  held  out  his  hand  ;  and  Selina,  though  deeply 
mortified,  could  not  refuse  it.  At  that  moment  Kit 
Mallory  came  down  the  path  singing  as  usual.  The 
moment  she  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Pyncheon  and 
Selina,  she  stopped  short  an  instant,  as  if  petrified  ; 
then,  turning,  she  fled  up  the  path,  as  if  pursued  by 
a  wolf. 

"Who  is  that  child?"  asked  Mr.  Pyncheon,  look- 
ing after  her  with  an  expression  which  seemed  to 
Seiina  equally  compounded  of  fear  and  anger. 

"  Her  name  is  Kit  Mallory.  She  is  a  kind  of 
adopted  child  of  a  family  who  live  up  on  the  hill. 
You  can  see  the  end  of  the  house  a  l.ttle  farther  on. 
Do  you  know  them  ? "  she  could  not  help  asking, 
remembering  what  she  had  seen  or  fancied  on  the 
cross-road. 

"  Mallory  ?  no.  In  fact,  I  don't  know  anybody 
about  here.  Good-evening,  Miss  Wilson."  And, 
turning  round  the  rock,  he  was  out  of  sight  so  quickly 
that  Selina  could  not  help  thinking  he  must  have 


328          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

climbed  the  bank  and  hidden  himself  among  the 
bushes.  Thoroughly  confused  by  this  strange  inter- 
view, she  walked  hastily  homeward,  till,  just  where 
the  path  came  out  into  the  open  field,  she  found  Kit 
evidently  waiting  for  her. 

"  Selina,"  said  Kit,  speaking  under  her  breath, 
and  looking  around  her,  "you  must  not  talk  to  that 
man  :  he  is  a  very  wicked,  bad  man." 

"  Nonsense,  you  little  goose  !  He  is  a  gentleman 
from  Boston  whom  I  met  in  Oldbury.  His  name  is 
Pyncheon." 

Kit  shook  her  head.  "  He  is  no  more  Mr.  Pyn- 
cheon from  Boston  than  you  are.  7  know  him,  if  he 
changes  his  hair  a  dozen  times  a  day.  He  is  a  bad, 
wicked  man ;  and  if  you  talk  to  him  you  will  be 
sorry." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Selina  again.  "  You  are  a  very 
silly  little  girl,  and  very  impertinent  besides,  to  say 
such  things  about  a  gentleman.  Don't  you  think  my 
friend  Mrs.  Orme  knows  him  ?  " 

Kit  shook  her  head,  but  said  no  more.  She  had 
apparently  discharged  her  conscience ;  and,  bidding 
Selina  good-night,  she  turned  again  toward  the  vil- 
lage,—  not  by  the  ravine  this  time,  but  by  the  high 
road, — and  Selina  saw  her  look  behind  her  more 
than  once,  as  if  fearing  pursuit. 

Selina  took  her  own  way  homeward,  a  good  deal 
mortified  and  still  more  puzzled  by  the  conduct  of 
her  late  acquaintance.  Certainly  his  recognition  of 
her,  such  as  it  was,  had  not  been  flattering.  He  had 
seemed  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  away ;  and,  if  Kit  had 
been  scared  at  the  sight  of  Mr.  Pyncheon,  Selina 


OLDHAM  AFFAIRS.  329 

could  not  get  rid  of  the  idea  that  Mr.  Pyncheon  had 
been  equally  scared  at  her.  In  short,  she  could  not 
tell  what  to  make  of  it ;  and,  between  the  meeting 
and  Mrs.  Orme's  letter,  she  returned  home  in  any 
thing  but  a  comfortable  frame  of  mind. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

WARNING. 

KIT  did  her  errands  at  the  village  store,  gathered 
her  parcels  together,  and,  not  without  fear  and  trem- 
bling, prepared  to  set  out  on  her  homeward  walk. 
At  the  door  she  found  Abner  Bassett  with  his 
father's  team  and  wagon. 

"Halloo,  Kitty!  Want  a  ride  home?"  was  his 
cheery  greeting.  The  offer  of  a  ride  was  an  ordinary 
civility;  and  Kit  was  a  great  favorite  with  the  family 
at  the  mill,  from  Ma  Bassett  down  to  the  latest  baby. 
Kit  gratefully  accepted  the  offer,  and  climbed  into 
the  rattling  lumber-wagon  with  as  much  pleasure  as 
if  it  had  been  the  finest  coach  in  the  land. 

"  I  have  to  go  round  by  Aunt  Betsy's  to  take  home 
her  molasses-jug,  so  I  can  set  you  down  right  at 
your  own  gate,"  said  Abner  as  he  took  his  seat,  and 
started  up  his  horses.  "Well,  and  how  are  you  get- 
ting on  at  your  house  ?  Your  uncle  doesn't  come  to 
Bible  class  any  more  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Kit  sadly,  "  I  can't  coax  him  to  come  ; 
but  he  lets  me  go,  and  he  doesn't  say  a  word  against 
my  going  to  Sunday  school.  Last  Sunday  he  took 
33° 


WARNING.  331 

my  library-book,  and  read  it  all  through.  That  was 
nice,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"Very,"  said  Abner  encouragingly.  "I'll  tell  you 
what,  Kitty :  next  Sunday  I'll  pick  out  a  real  inter- 
esting book,  and  you  shall  take  it  home  to  him." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  Perhaps  he  will  come  after  a 
while,  if  he  likes  the  books." 

"  Perhaps  so.  You  love  your  uncle,  don't  you, 
Kitty  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Kit  with  emphasis.  "  Uncle  Phin 
is  always  good  to  me  when  he  doesn't  drink,  and  he 
was  always  good  to  poor  aunt  Martha.  It  seems  to 
me  sometimes  as  if  he  was  two  men  ;  and  one  man 
wanted  to  be  good,  and  the  other  wouldn't  let  him. 
I  don't  know  as  you  understand  what  I  mean." 

"  Yes,  I  do  :  I've  felt  that  way  myself  a  good  many 
times." 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  hoping  that  the  good  man  will 
get  the  best  of  it  some  time,"  said  Kit. 

"We  will  all  hope  so,"  returned  Abner.  "Here 
we  are  at  Aunt  Betsy's,  and  here  she  is  looking  out 
for  us.  Now  she  will  have  something  nice  and  pleas- 
ant to  say.  Can  you  hold  the  lines  while  I  get  out 
the  parcels  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes :  I  am  never  afraid  of  horses,"  replied 
Kit.  "  When  we  lived  in  the  Indian  country  I  used 
to  ride  the  ponies  bare-backed." 

"  Good  for  you  !  I'll  give  you  a  ride  on  my  black 
colt  some  day.  —  Halloo,  Aunt  Betsy  !  Here's  your 
shopping." 

Aunt  Betsy  appeared  at  the  door,  candle  in  hand. 
"Dear  me,  Abner!  you  needn't  holler  so.  I  never 


332          OLD/JAM,    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

did  see  such  boys  for  yelling  in  all  my  born  days. 
Did  you  get  the  coffee  ?  Seems  to  me  it  feels  dread- 
ful light  for  half  a  pound.  Where's  the  molasses  ? 
Now,  you  didn't  go  and  forget  that  molasses-jug, 
Abner  Bassett  ?  There  never  was  any  thing  like 
boys." 

"Hold  on,  Aunt  Betsy.  The  jug  is  in  the  wagon 
all  safe.  Here  it  is,  you  see ;  and  here  is  some  ham, 
or  something,  Mrs.  Andrews  sent  you." 

"Why  couldn't  you  say  so,  then  ?"  snapped  Aunt 
Betsy  "  Ham,  is  it  ?  Just  like  Harriet  Anne  An- 
drews. Why  couldn't  she  send  me  some  fresh 
meat  ? " 

"  On  the  whole,  I  believe  it  is  beefsteak,  and  not 
ham,  Aunt  Betsy." 

"  There  is  a  slice  of  ham  in  with  the  beef,"  ob- 
served Kit  from  her  perch  in  the  wagon. 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say  you  looked  at  it.  What  business 
had  you  a-peeping  and  a-swooping  into  my  parcels, 
Kit  Mallory  ? " 

"  I  didn't  look  into  it,"  answered  Kit  indignantly. 
"  I  was  in  the  kichen,  and  saw  Mrs.  Andrews  do  it 
up.  She  told  me  last  Sunday  she  would  give  me 
some  nice  papers  if  I  would  come  after  them,  so  I 
did  ;  and  I  had  to  wait  a  little,  because  she  said  she 
was  just  doing  up  some  things  for  Aunt  Betsy  Burr." 

"  Yes,  that's  a  likely  story ;  not  but  that  it  would 
be  just  like  Harriet  Anne  Andrews  to  tell  everybody 
what  she  was  doing. — Well,  there,  I  guess  you've 
got  every  thing,  for  once.  You  can  tell  your  ma,  if 
she  has  got  more  plums  than  she  wants,  I  should  like 
a  few  to  make  sauce  of." 


WARNING.  333 

"Aunt  Betsy  is  rather  worse  than  usual,"  said 
Abner  as  he  drove  away. 

"  What  does  make  her  so  cross  ?  "  asked  Kit.  "  Is 
it  because  she  has  had  so  much  trouble  ? " 

"  She  has  never  had  any  great  trouble  that  I  know 
of,"  replied  Abner,  "Her  husband,  Uncle  Jonathan, 
was  one  of  the  best  and  kindest  men  that  ever  lived, 
and  always  waited  on  her  like  a  slave ;  but  he  was 
not  one  of  the  kind  that  make  money,  and  that 
vexed  her.  I  do  think  she  fairly  worried  the  old  man 
into  his  grave.  Since  then  all  the  neighbors  have 
looked  after  her  and  done  for  her;  but  she  is  never 
satisfied,  and  never  would  be,  whatever  they  did." 

"  I  often  think  she  must  be  lonesome  living  by 
herself  so." 

"  Well,  that  is  her  fault  too.  Lucinda  Jane  Pea- 
body  went  to  stay  with  her;  but,  after  she  had  tried 
it  a  month,  she  told  ma  she  would  rather  go  and 
keep  house  for  old  Kettle  on  Indian  Hill  than  stay 
with  Mrs.  Burr.  And  I  am  sure  I  would,"  concluded 
Abner.  "The  old  Indian  is  good-natured,  at  any 
rate.  Well,  here  we  are,  Kitty.  Have  you  got  all 
your  papers  ?  Good-night,  and  thank  you  for  your 
company." 

Kit  had  been  in  some  measure  diverted  by  Abner's 
chat  and  Aunt  Betsy's  scolding  ;  but,  as  she  climbed 
the  somewhat  long  and  steep  ascent  from  the  bars 
to  the  house,  her  fears  returned  upon  her  with  double 
force  ;  and  it  was  with  a  very  anxious  and  troubled 
face  that  she  sought  out  Symantha,  whom  she  found 
taking  care  of  the  milk. 

"  Well,  Kit,  did  you   have   a  nice  walk,  and   get 


334         OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

your  papers  ?  Why,  what  ails  you,  child  ?  You 
look  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost." 

"  I  have  seen  something  worse,"  answered  Kit  in 
a  low  tone.  "  Symantha,  what  do  you  think  !  I  have 
seen  Gale  again,  and  he  was  talking  to  Selina 
Weston." 

"Are  you  sure?"  asked  Symantha. 

"Just  as  sure  as  that  I  see  you.  I  went  down 
the  brook-path  ;  and,  when  I  came  round  the  corner, 
there  he  stood  talking  with  Selina.  I  saw  him  shake 
hands  with  her." 

"Impossible!" 

"  Yes,  he  was.  He  has  got  white  hair  and  whisk- 
ers ;  but  I  should  know  him  by  his  eyes  and  the 
shape  of  his  face  if  he  were  to  paint  his  face  black." 

"  What  did  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  turned  and  ran  till  I  came  to  the  road ;  and 
then  I  waited  for  Selina,  and  told  her  who  he  was." 

"  And  what  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  called  me  silly  and  impertinent,  and  said  he 
was  a  gentleman  from  Boston  that  she  had  met  in 
Oldbury.  But  I  knew  him  well  enough ;  and,  what 
is  more,  I  believe  he  knew  me." 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  Symantha,  evidently  much 
discomposed.  "  I  do  wish  I  knew  what  was  going 
on  I  believe  that  man  is  making  a  tool  of  father, 
and  drawing  him  into  some  scrape." 

"  Then  you  believe  it  was  Gale  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Kit,  I  do,  because  I  think  I  saw  him  myself 
down  in  our  woods  the  day  the  steer  was  lost,  —  the 
day  Selina  Weston  came  home.  He  was  dressed 
very  smart,  and  had  white  hair,  as  you  say  ;  but  I 


WARNING.  335 

thought  of  Gale  in  a  moment.  More  than  that, 
I  believe  some  one  has  slept  in  the  barn  chamber 
more  than  once,  and  that  father  has  carried  provis- 
ions to  him.  What  can  he  be  about  ? " 

Kit  thought  a  moment  ;  and  then  she  drew  Syman- 
tha  into  a  little  room  which  opened  from  the  pantry, 
and  shut  the  door. 

"  Symantha,"  she  whispered,  "  I  don't  know  what 
you  will  say ;  but  do  you  suppose  they  can  be  plan- 
'ning  to  rob  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  ? " 

Symantha  dropped  on  a  seat,  her  face  as  white  as 
her  apron. 

"  Kit,  what  do  you  mean  ?  What  makes  you  think 
so?" 

"  Well,  a  good  many  things.  It  is  the  only  house 
round  here  that  would  be  worth  the  risk,  for  one 
thing.  And  there  is  another  reason.  You  know 
uncle  Phin  would  not  let  me  go  near  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt's  for  ever  so  long.  He  did  not  like  it  because 
I  went  to  the  flower  party ;  and  he  would  not  let  me 
go  again,  though  Miss  Van  Zandt  asked  me,  and 
offered  to  teach  me  to  make  lace.  Then  all  at  once 
he  turned  round,  and  wanted  me  to  go."  Kit  sank 
her  voice  still  lower.  "  And  ever  since  I  began,  he 
has  asked  me  such  queer  questions  when  I  am  alone 
with  him." 

"  What  sort  of  questions  ? " 

"  Well,  about  the  silver,  —  how  much  they  used, 
and  where  they  kept  it.  And  yesterday,  when  I  was 
helping  him  pick  the  harvest  apples,  he  asked  me  if 
I  had  ever  been  in  the  ladies'  rooms,  and  where  they 
kept  their  jewels." 


336          OLD  HAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  And  what  did  you  tell  him  ? " 

"I  told  him  I  didn't  know  any  thing  about  it,  and 
that  I  had  never  been  in  any  of  the  up-stairs  rooms 
only  Miss  Bogardus's  when  she  was  teaching  me  the 
lace  stitches ;  and  I  didn't  believe  they  had  any 
jewels  with  them  only  the  diamond  ear-rings  Madam 
Van  Zandt  always  wears.  And  then  he  muttered 
that  he  knew  better,  and  that  folks  ought  to  have 
more  sense  than  to  bring  such  things  to  lonely  coun- 
try houses.  And  it  is  lonesome,"  added  Kit.  "The 
house  stands  so  far  back  from  the  road,  with  no  other 
anywhere  nearer  than  this,  except  Miss  Claxton's  ; 
and  I  don't  know  what  good  they  could  do.  You 
don't  think  uncle  Phin  would  be  led  away  to  do  such 
a  thing  as  that  ?  " 

Symantha  pressed  her  hands  hard  together. 

"  I  don't  know,  Kit.  If  he  were  left  to  himself  he 
would  cut  his  hand  off  before  he  would  do  any  thing 
to  injure  Mrs.  Van  Zandt.  But  he  is  in  this  man's 
power,  —  at  least  he  thinks  so, — and  there  is  no 
telling —  Hush  !  there  he  is." 

And  at  that  moment  Phin's  voice  was  heard,  calling 
harshly,  "  Here,  Symantha,  Kit,  where  are  you  all  ? " 

"  Don't  say  a  word,  for  your  life,"  whispered  Sy- 
mantha ;  then  aloud,  "Here  I  am,  pa.  What  is  it  ?" 

"Where's  Kit?  I  want  her.  —  See  here,  Kit,  what 
do  you  mean  by  hanging  round  Andrews's  store,  and 
being  out  after  dark  ?  " 

"I  was  not  out  after  dark,  uncle  Phin,"  answered 
Kit.  "  I  have  been  home  this  half-hour.  I  went  to 
get  some  papers  Mrs.  Andrews  promised  me,  and  I 
caught  a  ride  with  Abner  Bassett." 


WARNING.  337 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  did  ;  and  a  nice  figure  you  made, 
perched  up  on  his  wagon-seat.  I  won't  have  you 
riding  round  with  young  fellows  in  that  way.  Do 
you  hear  me,  or  not  ?  " 

Kit  could  not  well  help  hearing,  for  Phin  spoke  very 
loud  ;  and,  hard  as  his  language  was,  Kit  could  not 
help  thinking  that  his  anger  was  assumed.  She 
answered  quite  meekly,  — 

"  I  am  sorry,  uncle  Phin.  I  didn't  mean  any  thing 
wrong," 

"  Oh,  no,  you  never  mean  any  thing  wrong," 
returned  Phin  in  the  same  loud,  harsh  tone ;  and, 
glancing  toward  the  window  as  he  spoke,  "you  go 
to  bed,  and  stay  there,  —  that's  what  I  want  of  you. 
Go  this  minute,"  as  Kit  cast  a  glance  toward  her 
papers.  He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  added,  with 
a  curious  irresolution  in  his  tone  and  manner,  "  There, 
you  can  take  your  books  and  a  light,  if  you  like ;  but 
go  up  stairs,  and  stay  there.  —  Symantha,  I  want  you 
to  take  a  light,  and  look  up  in  the  back  chamber  for 
the  bottle  of  horse-liniment.  I  know  I  put  it  yp 
there  somewhere,  but  I  can't  find  it." 

"  Here's  the  bottle  on  the  shelf  by  the  clock,  uncle 
Phin,"  said  Kit,  taking  it  down  as  she  spoke.  Phin 
snatched  it  from  her,  and  set  it  back  with  such  a 
trembling  hand  that  he  dropped  it,  and  it  broke  to 
pieces  on  the  hearth. 

"There!  see  what  you  made  me  do.  That  is  not 
what  I  want.  It  is  a  large  green  bottle  with  a 
wooden  stopper.  I  know  I  put  it  up  in  the  back 
room.  Kit,  why  don't  you  go  to  your  room,  as  I  told 
you?" 


338          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

"  I  am  going,  uncle  Phin,"  said  Kit,  gathering  her 
papers  together.  "And  I'll  tell  you  what  I  am  going 
to  do  when  I  get  there  :  I  am  going  to  kneel  clown, 
and  ask  God  to  keep  you  away  from  wicked  men  who 
want  you  to  do  wicked  things."  Then,  coming  close 
to  her  uncle,  she  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and 
whispered  in  his  ear,  — 

"  Uncle  Phin,  don't  ;  please  don't.  Just  think  what 
aunt  Martha  would  say  if  she  knew.  And  God  loves 
you  more  than  she  did,  —  I  know  He  does.  O  uncle 
Phin,  don't ! " 

"  Don't  what?  Don't  be  a  fool,"  said  Phin. 
"There,  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  child,"  he  added 
with  the  same  curious  irresolution  in  his  tone,  un- 
clasping, but  not  ungently,  the  arms  which  clung 
round  his  neck.  "Go  to  bed,  like  a  good  girl,  and 
pray  as  much  as  you  like.  You  sit  up  too  late,  and 
that  is  what  makes  you  so  thin.  —  Symantha,  are  you 
going  to  find  that  bottle  ?  or  do  you  want  the  colt  to 
die  before  I  get  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  can,  father,"  said  Symantha,  who 
had  dropped  on  the  nearest  chair.  "  I  have  had  one 
of  my  headaches  all  day,  and  I  am  so  dizzy  just  now 
I  can  hardly  stand.  I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  help 
me  up  stairs." 

She  tried  to  rise  as  she  spoke,  but  nearly  fell  to 
the  floor.  Phin  caught  her  in  his  arms.  "  I'll  carry 
you  up,"  said  he.  "  Come,  Kit :  you  hold  the  light, 
and  then  go  to  bed  yourself." 

Phin  laid  his  daughter  on  the  bed,  and  kissed  her 
tenderly  enough. 

"There,  Kit  will  help  you   to  get    settled,"   said 


WARNING.  339 

he.     "  You  will  be  better  when  you  have  had  a  good 
rest." 

As  soon  as  Symantha  had  dismissed  Kit,  she  rose, 
and,  though  blind  and  giddy  with  pain,  she  crept  to 
the  other  side  of  the  house,  where  a  small  window 
looked  toward  the  barn.  She  had  waited  only  a  few 
minutes  when  she  saw  her  father  leave  the  house 
with  a  basket ;  and  presently  she  saw,  or  thought  she 
saw,  a  gleam  of  light  from  the  loft.  Yes,  there  it 
was  again  ;  and  then  she  saw  it,  but  only  for  a  mo- 
ment, from  the  window  of  the  little  bedroom  over  the 
stable,  which  Kit  had  used  all  summer  for  a  play- 
room. Phin  had  lately  taken  possession  of  this 
room  for  a  harness-room,  as  he  said,  and  had  fitted  it 
with  a  stout  lock  and  key.  Symantha  sighed  deeply, 
and  even  groaned.  She  was  like  one  who  sees  a  friend 
in  horrible  peril,  and  is  unable  to  lift  a  finger  to  save 
him.  She  knew  there  was  no  use  in  talking.  Like 
other  weak  people,  Phin  had  an  abundant  fund  of 
obstinacy,  and  was  excessively  jealous  of  being  gov- 
erned. Such  people  are  sometimes  said  to  be  easily 
led ;  and  so  they  are  in  some  directions,  as  a  stone  is 
easily  started  down  hill.  But  try  to  roll  your  stone 
up  hill,  and  you  will  find  that  a  very  different  matter. 
Symantha  had  wondered  at  her  father  for  taking 
Kit's  remonstrance  so  quietly ;  but  then,  he  had  been 
exceedingly  kind  and  indulgent  to  the  child  ever 
since  his  wife  died,  even  going  so  far  as  to  attend  the 
schoolhouse  meetings  with  her  two  or  three  times, 
where  he  had  been  made  very  welcome.  But  all  the 
good  in  the  universe  is  of  no  use  to  a  man  so  long  as 
it  is  outside  of  him,  as  the  wise  old  German  has  it. 


340          OLD  HAM ;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

Phin's  feelings  had  been  touched,  and  his  natural 
musical  taste  pleased  by  the  singing ;  but  his  will 
remained  the  same.  He  had  made  a  solemn  promise 
to  his  dying  wife,  which  at  the  time  he  fully  meant 
to  perform  ;  but  he  was  waiting  from  day  to  day,  "  till 
things  should  be  different,"  he  said.  Meantime  Satan 
was  not  idle,  but  was  working  by  one  of  his  most 
active  agents,  now  awaiting  Phin  in  the  barn  cham- 
ber. 

"  Well,  here  you  are  at  last,"  was  the  salutation 
Phin  received  as  he  entered  the  room.  "  I  thought 
you  were  never  coming.  What  kept  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  had  to  get  the  women-folks  out  of  the 
way." 

"  Bother  the  women  !  Why  don't  you  send  them 
adrift  ?  That  young  one  will  bring  you  into  trouble 
yet.  I  believe  she  knew  me  this  afternoon." 

"Nonsense!  How  could  she  know  you?  She  has 
not  seen  you  since  she  was  a  baby.  But  say,  Harry, 
I  wish  you  would  give  this  thing  up." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  because.  I  have  a  feeling  that  harm  will 
come  of  it ;  and,  besides,  the  old  lady  was  kind  to  my 
poor  wife." 

Gale  poured  out  a  flood  of  abuse  upon  cowards  and 
sott-heads  who  did  not  know  their  own  minds ;  end- 
ing with,  "  But  I'll  tell  you  what,  Phin  :  if  you  play 
me  false,  I'll  have  your  life,  just  as  sure  as  you  live. 
I  have  planned  to  do  this  thing,  and  I  am  going  to 
carry  it  through ;  and  you  are  going  to  help  me,  or 
you  are  not  going  to  see  sunrise  to-morrow." 

"  Who  said  any  thing  about  playing  false  ?  "  asked 


WARNING.        .  341 

Phin  sulkily.  "You  do  well  to  bully  me,  don't  you  ? 
Where  would  you  be  this  minute  but  for  me?" 

"  I  know,  and  I  don't  forget  it ;  but  I  won't  be 
played  fast  and  loose  with." 

"  And,  as  to  playing  false,  you  had  better  look  out 
for  somebody  besides  me,"  continued  Phin.  "  Much 
need  to  talk  to  me,  when  you  put  your  head  in  that 
woman's  pocket." 

"  What,  Sally  ?  She's  as  true  as  steel.  You  ought 
to  see  her  playing  the  fine  lady  there  in  Oldbury. 
Well,  there,  go  and  get  a  nap,  and  I'll  do  the  same ; 
but  keep  one  eye  open,  and  call  me  at  one :  and  re- 
member, no  fooling ! " 

Phin  crept  back  to  the  house  ashamed,  enraged, 
wretched  as  a  man  could  be  ;  feeling  himself  a  slave, 
and  lacking  courage  to  make  a  stroke  for  freedom. 
A  French  writer  has  said,  that,  to  reap  any  benefit 
from  sin,  a  man  must  be  altogether  wicked  ;  and  Phin 
was  not  that.  His  conscience,  though  blunted,  was 
not  dead.  Since  he  had  lived  in  Oldham  a  good  many 
things  had  happened  to  bring  to  mind  the  teachings 
of  that  Christian  mother  and  sister  whose  memory 
he  still  revered.  He  had  more  than  half  made  up  his 
mind  to  give  up  all  his  old  courses,  and  betake  him- 
self to  a  decent,  sober  life.  But  then  the  tempter 
had  come  in  his  way,  —  the  man  who,  as  he  believed, 
had  him  in  his  power,  —  and  the  weak  will  had  yielded 
to  the  strong  one.  He  had  been  led  into  more  than 
one  piece  of  wickedness  in  his  absences  from  home. 
Now  came  the  crowning  atrocity,  for  so  he  felt  it. 
He  was  being  made  a  tool  of  to  rob,  perhaps  murder, 
the  woman  who  had  been  a  mother  to  his  wife.  To 


342          OLD  If  AM;    OR,   RESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

be  sure,  Gale  had  promised  that  there  should  be  no 
violence  ;  but  what  was  his  word  worth  ?  The  fright 
alone  was  enough  to  kill  such  an  old  lady.  There 
was  not  a  man  about  the  place,  he  knew,  for  the 
coachman  had  gone  to  Oldtown  to  meet  some  friends 
of  Mrs.  Van  Zandt's  who  were  coming  by  the  early 
morning  train.  Nobody  was  there  but  three  or  four 
weak  women.  Phin  flung  himself  down  in  the  rock- 
ing-chair,—  his  wife's  chair,  —  and  groaned  almost 
aloud.  "  Talk  of  going  to  sleep !  "  he  said  to  himself. 
"  You  might  as  well  tell  a  man  to  go  to  sleep  when 
the  Indians  were  pouring  hot  coals  on  his  head." 
The  clock  struck  nine  —  ten — eleven.  How  dread- 
fully fast  the  hours  were  going  on  !  It  would  soon 
be  time  to  call  Gale. 

Suddenly  a  thought  flashed  across  him.  What 
if  he  should  send  them  warning  ?  If  they  were  all 
awake  and  up,  and  the  house  lighted,  surely  Gale 
would  never  dare  go  near  it. 

Nothing  is  so  dear  to  a  weak  mind  as  a  compro- 
mise. Phin  rose  to  his  feet  in  an  instant,  found  his 
way  softly  up  the  stairs  in  the  dark,  and  opened  Kit's 
door.  He  dared  not  strike  a  light,  lest  a  ray  should 
betray  him  ;  but  it  was  a  starlight  night,  and  the 
large  window  was  wholly  uncovered,  so  that  his  eyes, 
accustomed  to  the  darkness,  saw  the  bed  and  its  oc- 
cupant. As  he  bent  over,  and  laid  his  hand  on  her 
arm,  Kit,  who  was  always  a  light  sleeper,  started  up 
broad  awake  on  the  instant. 

"Uncle  Phin,  what  is  it?" 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Phin  sharply.  "  Kit,  listen.  Are 
you  afraid  to  run  up  to  Mrs.  Van  Zandt's  ?  You  can 


WARNING.  343 

go  along  by  the  trees,  and  nobody  will  see  you.  Are 
you  afraid  to  go  —  to  save  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  and  the 
young  ladies  ? " 

"  I'm  afraid,  but  I'll  go,"  was  Kit's  characteristic 
answer.  "But  how  shall  I  get  out  without  —  any 
one  seeing  me  ? " 

"  Go  down  the  front  stairs,  and  out  at  the  little 
side  door:  that  is  out  of  sight  from  the  barn. 
Keep  along  the  road  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees  till 
you  come  to  the  turn  by  Crossett's  red  barn,  then 
go  across  lots.  Quick,  now,  if  you  are  to  do  any 
good." 

Kit  was  up  and  dressed  in  an  instant.  "What 
shall  I  say  ? "  she  asked. 

"Tell  them  to  get  up  and  have  lights  burning,  and 
to  make  as  if  they  had  company.  Tell  them  —  Oh, 
bother !  tell  them  what  you  like  ;  but  be  quick  if  you 
are  going  to  do  any  good." 

"Wait  one  minute,"  said  Kit.  For  a  brief  space, 
which  did  not  seem  long  even  to  Phin's  impatience, 
she  knelt  by  her  bedside.  Then,  taking  her  shoes  in 
hand,  she  crept  down  stairs,  slipped  out  of  the  little 
side  door,  leaving  it  ajar  behind  her,  and  glided  like 
a  shadow  out  at  the  gate,  and  up  the  road  shaded 
with  maple-trees  of  sixty  years  growth.  Phin  watched 
the  little  figure  as  far  as  he  could  see  it,  and  then 
went  to  the  other  side  of  the  house,  and  looked  tow- 
ard the  barn.  All  was  quiet  there  ;  and  he  returned 
to  his  chair,  to  be  tormented  by  a  hundred  misgiv- 
ings, and  to  wish  he  had  let  the  child  alone.  He  had 
sent  her  into  terrible  danger,  for  he  well  knew  that 
Gale  would  never  hesitate  to  murder  Kit  if  he  caught 


344          OLD  HAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

her.  The  hour  set,  one  o'clock,  was  drawing  very 
near.  Why  could  he  not  have  thought  of  it  before  ? 
Kit  would  never  have  time  to  reach  the  stone  house ; 
and  perhaps  she  could  not  succeed  in  waking  the 
ladies,  even  if  she  did.  He  wished  he  had  gone 
himself,  or  let  the  matter  alone.  Poor  Phin  !  a  great 
part  of  his  life  had  been  spent  in  doing  things,  and 
then  wishing  he  had  not  done  them. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

THE    NET    CLOSED. 

KIT  sped  swiftly  and  silently  as  a  mousing-owl 
under  the  shadow  of  the  great  maple-trees,  where 
the  soft,  short  grass  returned  no  sound  to  her  tread. 
It  was  not  till  she  reached  a  spot  out  of  sight  of 
house  and  barn  that  she  stopped  to  put  on  her  shoes, 
without  which  she  dared  not  try  to  ascend  the  stony 
path.  It  was  soon  done ;  and  she  took  her  way  up 
the  hill,  stopping  more  than  once  to  look  round,  and 
strain  her  eyes  through  the  darkness.  She  could  not 
resist  the  conviction  that  some  one  or  something  was 
following  her,  stopping  when  she  stopped,  and  moving 
when  she  moved.  Her  blood  chilled  at  the  thought. 
Could  it  be  Gale,  who  had  seen  her,  after  all  ?  Or 
was  it  —  what  ? 

Kit  had  heard  plenty  of  wild  stories,  and  had 
abundance  of  superstitious  fears.  She  had  heard 
from  her  Indian  friends,  of  creatures  which  roamed 
at  night  to  entrap  unwary  travellers ;  first  scaring 
them  out  of  their  senses,  and  then  tearing  them  to 
pieces.  She  had  heard,  too,  from  the  school-children, 
about  the  great  snake,  which  at  least  once  in  the 

345 


346          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

year  crossed  the  town  of  Oldham  from  Indian  Hill 
to  the  Big  Swamp,  and  back  again,  — who  should  say 
on  what  errand  ?  She  had  heard,  too,  of  panthers 
(or  "painters,"  as  the  children  called  them),  —  wild 
animals,  but  endued  with  more  than  animal  cunning 
and  malice  ;  and,  like  every  old  New-England  town, 
Oldham  had  plenty  of  legends  of  goblin  and  ghost, 
witch  and  what  not. 

"But  they  can't  hurt  me  unless  He  lets  them,  and 
I  don't  believe  He  will,"  said  Kit  sturdily  to  herself, 
after  a  longer  pause  than  usual,  during  which  she 
was  sure  she  had  heard  the  breaking  of  a  dry  twig 
under  some  one's  foot.  "  I  don't  believe  Gale  saw 
me,  and  I'm  sure  nobody  about  here  would  hurt  me." 

So  saying,  she  hastened  on  more  rapidly,  as  if  to 
atone  for  her  delay ;  but  it  seemed  an  age  to  her 
before  she  reached  the  turn  by  her  favorite  ledge, 
and  saw  the  stone  house  not  far  away,  and  a  dim 
light  burning  in  Madam  Van  Zandt's  window.  The 
next  room  was  Amity's,  she  knew ;  but  how  to  rouse 
them  ?  She  stood  a  second  to  consider,  and  then 
took  up  a  handful  of  gravel,  and  threw  it  against  the 
window. 

Waked  by  the  noise,  Amity  started  up  ;  but,  before 
she  could  strike  a  light,  the  sound  came  again,  and  a 
soft  voice  called,  "  Miss  Bogardus  !  "  She  sprang  to 
the  window,  and,  opening  it,  saw  a  little  dark  figure 
below. 

"  O  Miss  Bogardus,  hurry  and  let  me  in  !  "  said 
Kit  in  a  tone  of  entreaty,  for  her  courage  was  fast 
giving  way.  "  Oh,  do  hurry !  I  am  sure  I  hear 
them." 


THE   NET  CLOSED.  347 

"What  is  it,  Amity?"  asked  Ida  sleepily  from  the 
next  room. 

t:  It  is  Kit,  and  she  wants  to  come  in,"  answered 
Amity ;  and  again  came  the  agonized  entreaty,  "  O 
Miss  Bogardus,  do  hurry  !  " 

It  seemed  an  age  to  Kit,  though  it  was  not  more 
than  a  few  minutes,  before  she  was  admitted  to  the 
side  hall,  where  were  assembled  Mrs.  Van  Zandt, 
Amity,  and  Ida,  and  another  tall  young  lady  whom 
Kit  did  not  know. 

"  Fasten  the  door,  quick  ! "  were  Kit's  first  words. 
"Fasten  all  the  doors  and  windows." 

"  Yes,  yes,  we  will  fasten  them,"  said  Amity  sooth- 
ingly. "  My  dear  child,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Fasten  the  doors  ;  never  mind  me.  Oh,  do  be 
quick  !  they  will  be  here." 

"  Who  will  be  here  ?  "  asked  Ida. 

"The  robbers.  Uncle  Phin  sent  me  to  tell  you. 
They  are  coming  to  rob  the  house  to-night.  Don't 
ask  me  any  more  questions,  but  hurry  and  fasten  up 
every  thing.  They  will  be  here  :  I  heard  some  one 
coming  up  the  hill.  Oh,  do  hurry !  they  will  kill 
you." 

Ida,  never  very  courageous,  looked  at  Amity  in 
dismay.  The  tall  young  lady,  whom  Kit  did  not 
know,  stepped  into  her  room,  and  brought  out  a  neat 
little  case,  which  she  began  to  unlock. 

"There  will  be  two  words  to  that,"  said  she  coolly. 
"  How  many  are  there  ?  " 

"  Only  two  that  I  know  of,  but  there  may  be  more. 
Uncle  Phin  sent  me  to  tell  you.  Oh,  why  dont 
you  hurry  and  fasten  up  every  thing  ? "  said  Kit, 


348          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

clasping  her  hands  in  an  agony  of  impatience,  as  the 
girls  looked  at  each  other. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Van  Zandt  soothingly.  "  I  almost  think  you  must 
have  been  dreaming." 

Kit  stood  up,  and  strove  to  speak  calmly ;  but, 
before  she  could  answer,  Percy  broke  in,  — 

"  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Van  Zandt,  but  I  think  we  are 
the  dreamers.  If  the  child's  story  is  true,  we  have 
not  a  moment  to  lose ;  if  it  is  false,  we  shall  only 
have  lost  our  labor.  Don't  stand  staring,  girls,  but 
collect  the  valuables,  and  carry  them  to  some  safe 
place.  —  Aggy,  get  together  Mrs.  Van  Zandt's  jewels 
and  laces.  Amity,  you  and  Ida  take  the  spoons  and 
silver.  Is  there  any  money  in  the  house  ? " 

"Only  a  few  dollars." 

"  So  much  the  better.     Come,  girls,  be  quick." 

"Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  dress,  and  run  down  to 
Miss  Claxton's  ?  "  suggested  Amity. 

"And  so  run  right  into  the  arms  of  these  men,  as 
likely  as  not,"  said  Ida.  "  Besides,  aunt  Barbara 
could  not  do  it.  No,  Amity :  Percy  is  right.  Don't 
waste  a  moment.  —  What  are  you  going  to  do, 
Percy  ? " 

"  Stand  here  and  keep  guard  for  the  present," 
answered  Percy,  examining  the  charges  of  her  re- 
volver, and  changing  a  doubtful-looking  cartridge. 

"  But  you  won't  shoot  anybody  ? "  said  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt. 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it.  Dear  Mrs.  Van  Zandt,  do 
let  Aggy  take  you  up  stairs." 

"How  cool  you  are!"  said  Ida,  pausing  a  moment, 


7Y7.fi1  NET  CLOSED.  349 

with  her  lap  full  of  spoons.  "  I  wish  I  were  like 
you.  I  am  horribly  frightened." 

"  So  am  I,"  answered  Percy ;  "  but,  if  you  had 
lived  two  years  and  a  half  in  Arizona,  you  would 
know  that  the  more  scared  you  are,  the  cooler  you 
need  to  be." 

In  a  very  few  minutes  every  thing  of  value  was 
stored  in  a  strong  closet  built  for  such  purposes,  and 
not  easy  to  find  unless  the  searcher  knew  where  to 
look;  and  the  ladies  betook  themselves  to  the  front 
bedroom  over  the  door,  and  awaited  their  unwelcome 
visitors.  They  had  not  long  to  wait.  In  less  than 
half  an  hour,  stealthy  steps  were  heard,  and  the  han- 
dle of  the  door  was  carefully  tried.  To  Ida's  terror, 
Percy  opened  the  window  and  called,  "  Who  is 
there  ? 

"  Let  us  in,"  was  the  response. 

"  Not  till  I  know  who  you  are." 

"  Look  here,  young  woman,  just  you  let  us  in 
peaceably,  and  we  won't  hurt  you  :  if  we  have  to  let 
ourselves  in,  perhaps  we  shall.  We  mean  to  have 
what  is  worth  having  in  this  house,  and  you  can't 
help  yourself." 

"That's  Gale,"  whispered  Kit.  "He'll  kill  you 
all,  as  likely  as  not,  if  he  gets  in.  He  doesn't  care 
what  he  does." 

"  He  won't  get  in,"  answered  Percy  ;  then,  speak- 
ing to  the  men  outside,  "We  have  fire-arms,  and 
know  how  to  use  them.  The  first  man  who  enters 
this  house  is  a  dead  man." 

"  Do  come  away,  Percy :  he  will  shoot  you," 
urged  Ida. 


350          OLD  HAM ' ;    OR,  BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

"  No,  he  won't  ;  but  I  have  said  my  say,  so  I'll 
shut  the  window." 

"  Hark  !     What  are  they  doing  now  ?  " 

"  Sawing  out  the  panel  of  the  door,"  answered 
Percy.  "Don't  you  hear  them  ?  I  must  unfasten  this 
door  so  as  to  meet  them  before  they  can  get  up  the 
stairs.  Did  you  lock  all  the  doors  below,  Amity  ? " 

Amity  held  up  the  keys. 

"  Good  !  then  they  can't  do  any  thing  but  come  up 
stairs.  What  are  they  stopping  for,  I  wonder?  Hark  ! 
What  is  that  ?  " 

There  was  a  little  silence,  then  the  sound  of  a 
scuffle  ;  and  a  shot  was  heard,  followed  by  a  heavy 
groan.  Percy  ventured  to  open  the  window  and  look 
out.  She  saw  two  figures  stretched  on  the  ground, 
surrounded  by  two  or  three  more. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  called. 

"All  right,  ma'am,"  answered  a  cheery,  manly 
voice  from  below.  "  We  got  here  just  in  the  nick 
of  time.  Please  open  the  door :  there's  no  danger 
now." 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  persisted  Percy.  But,  before  she 
could  receive  an  answer,  two  more  figures  appeared 
upon  the  scene,  and  a  voice  she  well  knew  called 
out,  "  Halloo  !  what  does  this  mean  ?  " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Perry  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Van  Zandt  as  Percy  sprang  to  the  door  and  unlocked 
it. 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Percy,"  chimed  in  Ida:  "it 
may  be  all  a  plot  to  get  in." 

"  A  plot,  you  goose  !  Do  you  think  I  don't  know 
Abram's  voice  ?  "  Percy  ran  down  the  stairs  ;  and 


THE  NET  CLOSED.  351 

Amity  advanced  to  the  head  of  them  in  time  to  see 
her  unlock  and  unchain  the  front-door,  and  throw 
herself  upon  a  tall,  stalwart  figure,  with  a  cry  that 
had  something  decidedly  shaky  in  its  sound. 

"  There,  there,  my  girl,  don't  go  into  hysterics. 
What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  No  wonder  the  lady  is  scared,"  said  a  voice  from 
behind,  as  a  stout  man  in  a  blue  uniform  entered  the 
hall  :  "  it  was  enough  to  scare  any  one.  But  the 
danger  is  all  over  now,  only  we  must  get  this 
wounded  man  under  cover.  There  is  a  heavy  thun- 
der-gust coming  up.  If  the  lady  will  tell  me  where 
to  find  a  small  mattress,  it  will  be  easier  for  him." 

"  In  the  little  blue  room,  Aggy,"  said  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt. 

"With  your  leave  I'll  help  her,  ma'am,"  said  the 
stout  man,  stepping  up  the  staircase  with  two  strides, 
as  it  seemed.  "Ah,  yes,  this  is  it.  Careful  now,  men  ; 
mind  the  other  fellow.  —  Perhaps  you  and  your  friend 
will  bear  a  hand,  sir." 

In  another  minute  or  two  a  desperately  wounded 
man  was  laid  on  the  wide  sofa  in  the  hall,  and  Kit 
had  thrown  herself  on  her  knees  beside  him  with  a 
cry  of  anguish. 

"  Uncle  Phin,  O  uncle  Phin  !  speak  to  Kitty." 

"  Kitty,"  said  Phin,  opening  his  eyes.  "  Is  Kit  safe  ? 
Then  it's  all  right."  He  sank  back  with  a  sigh,  and 
closed  his  eyes.  • 

"  Oh,  do  some  one  go  for  the  doctor  ! "  cried  Kit, 
wringing  her  hands.  "  Don't  let  him  die.  O  uncle 
Phin!" 

"  Hush,  my  child.     I  am  a  doctor,  and  I  will  see 


352          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

to  him,"  said  the  second  new-comer,  advancing  to  the 
sofa.  "  Ladies,  please  step  out  of  the  way.  Police- 
man, I  shall  need  your  help.  Take  the  child  away, 
Ida. — Yes,  my  dear,  you  shall  see  him  again  di- 
rectly." 

"And  now  what  is  all  this  about  ?  "  asked  Abram 
van  Alstyne,  depositing  his  wife  on  the  sofa.  "  Frank 
and  I  walked  over  from  the  railroad,  and  the  first  we 
knew  found  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  a  battle." 

Ida  told  the  story  as  far  as  she  knew  it.  "  As  for 
the  rest,  you  must  ask  our  champions  themselves," 
she  concluded.  "  They  may  have  come  out  of  a 
cloud,  for  aught  I  know.  I  am  sorry  poor  Mallory 
was  the  one  to  be  shot,  for  it  was  he  who  sent  us 
warning." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  him,"  remarked  the  tall 
policeman.  "But  it  was  none  of  us  who  shot  him  : 
it  was  that  fellow  Gale,  or  Burchard  —  he  has  a  dozen 
names  or  more.  We  have  been  watching  for  him  for 
a  week.  His  wife  put  us  on  his  track  at  last.  We 
came  up  just  as  they  started  out,  and  followed  them 
every  step  of  the  way.  —  But  what  brought  you  up 
here,  sis  ? " 

"  Uncle  Phin  sent  me,"  sobbed  Kit.  "  He  told  me 
to  come  up  and  tell  the  ladies.  Oh,  do  you  think  he 
will  die  ? " 

"  I  don't  know,  child.  He  is  badly  hurt,  I  am 
afraid  ;  but  we  shall  hear  what  the  doctor  says.  Here 
he  comes  now.  —  Well,  doctor  ? " 

"  It  is  a  desperate  case,"  said  Dr.  Van  Alstyne. 
"  He  may  last  till  morning,  or  even  a  little  longer  if 
kept  perfectly  quiet ;  but  it  would  be  instant  death 


THE  NET  CLOSED.  353 

to  move  him.  He  knows  his  condition,  and  is  very 
anxious  to  see  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  and  his  daughter." 

"  Potter,  you  might  go  down  for  the  woman,"  said 
the  tall  policeman.  "  Get  out  the  horse,  and  bring 
her  up." 

"Well,  my  poor  man,  this  is  very  sad,"  said  Mrs. 
Van  Zandt,  seating  herself  beside  the  wounded  man. 
"Dr.  Van  Alstyne  says  you  wish  to  speak  to  me." 

"  You  are  Mrs.  Barbara  Van  Zandt,  who  adopted 
Martha  Kathleen  Joyce  ?  "  said  Phin. 

"  Yes,  my  friend." 

"She  was  my  wife,"  said  Phin,  speaking  slowly 
but  quite  clearly.  "  She  was  my  cousin's  widow, — 
David  Selkirk's  widow.  He  died,  and  left  her  and 
her  child  to  my  care  ;  for  I  was  pretty  steady  then, 
and  was  helping  him  in  his  business.  Afterward  I 
married  her.  There  was  quite  a  good  deal  of  money 
coming  to  her  and  the  child,  but  I  fooled  it  away 
gambling  and  horse-trotting.  Gale  got  most  of  it. 
Then  my  wife  went  crazy ;  and  I  was  afraid  a  fuss 
would  be  made  about  the  money,  so  I  passed  off  Kit 
as  an  adopted  child.  Her  mother  never  knew  her 
till  just  at  last.  Then  she  made  me  promise  to  put 
the  child  into  your  hands  ;  and  I  meant  to  do  it,  but 
I  kept  putting  it  off :  I  hated  to  part  with  her.  And 
there  was  the  money." 

"  I  should  not  have  troubled  you  about  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Van  Zandt.  "  O  my  poor  little  Kathleen ! 
To  think  of  her  dying  so  near  me  !  " 

"There  was  more  about  it  than  that,"  said  Phin. 
He  paused  a  little,  and  then  added,  "  The  farm  is 
Kit's  by  rights.  Grandfather  left  it  to  David.  I 


354          OLDHAM ;    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

found  the  first  will  at  Mr.  Green's  in  Oldbury,  and 
proved  it.  Afterward  I  found  the  second  in  grand- 
father's desk.  It  is  there  now.  Symantha  don't 
know  any  thing  about  it.  You'll  be  kind  to  Syman- 
tha, won't  you?"  said  Phin,  turning  his  eyes  wist- 
fully on  the  old  lady.  "  She  is  a  good  girl,  and  she 
was  good  to  Matey." 

"  Indeed  I  will !  "  answered  Mrs.  Van  Zandt,  "as 
kind  as  if  she  were  my  own  daughter.  Oh,  if  you 
had  only  come  to  me  at  once !  " 

"  Well,  I  meant  to,"  said  Phin  feebly ;  "  but,  you 
see,  I  kept  putting  it  off.  I  felt  so  ashamed.  David 
left  them  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  I  just  fooled  it 
away.  I've  been  a  fool  all  my  life ;  but  I  was  good 
to  my  wife,  wasn't  I,  Kit  ?  " 

"Yes,  indeed!"  sobbed  Kit,  "always." 

"  He  must  not  say  another  word  if  he  is  to  live 
to  see  his  daughter,"  said  Dr. Van  Alstyne  in  a  low 
tone.  "  He  is  sinking  fast." 

'•Just  one  thing  more,"  said  Phin.  "I  want  to 
see  Gale." 

The  prisoner  was  brought  forward  strongly  guarded. 
He  gazed  at  the  dying  man  without  a  sign  of  emo- 
tion in  his  hard,  cruel  face. 

"  Gale,  do  you  think  I  sold  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,"  answered  Gale. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  said  Phin  eagerly.  "I  did 
send  Kit  up  to  warn  the  ladies  ;  but  I  never  betrayed 
you,  did  I,  Cap  ?  " 

"No,"  answered  the  policeman,  "you  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  Some  one  else  put  us  on  the  track  at 
last." 


THE  NET  CLOSED.  355 

"Who?"  asked  Gale,  changing  color  for  the  first 
time. 

"  Never  mind,  my  man  :  you'll  hear  all  about  it  in 
time." 

"Not  —  not  Sally?"  Then,  as  it  seemed  reading 
an  assent  in  the  man's  face,  he  set  his  teeth  hard. 

"Phin,  I'm  sorry,"  said  he,  suddenly  turning  to 
the  dying  man.  "  You've  saved  my  life,  and  I've 
taken  yours  ;  but  I  was  mistaken.  I'm  sorry,  that's 
all  I  can  say.  —  There,  take  me  out  of  this." 

Phin  was  silent  for  a  little,  and  seemed  to  fall  into 
a  doze,  from  which  he  waked  with  a  start. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  Oh,  I  know.  It's  most  over,  I 
guess.  Kit,  can't  you  sing  that  hymn  you  sung  for 
aunt  Martha?  Seems  to  me  I  should  like  to  hear 
it." 

Kit  tried  hard  to  sing,  — 

"Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul," 

but  the  effort  was  too  great.  Ida  took  it  up  ;  the  two 
gentlemen  joined  her,  and  they  sang  it  all  through. 
Phin  listened  quietly. 

"  My  mother  used  to  sing  that,"  said  he.  "  She 
believed  in  Him.  She  taught  me  to  say  my  prayers, 
too ;  but  I  can't  remember  them  now,  it  is  so  long 
ago.  Kit,  what  was  that  verse  you  said  at  the  Bible 
class  that  night  I  went  with  you?  Say  it  for  me." 

"'The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  us  from  all 
sin,'  "  repeated  Kit.  "  O  uncle  Phin,  do  believe  in 
Him  !  He  will  save  you,  I  am  sure  He  will.  —  Won't 
He  ?  "  she  asked,  appealing  to  Mrs.  Van  Zandt. 

"  Yes,  indeed  He  will,  if  you  look  to  Him,"  an- 


356  OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

swered  the  old  lady.  "  It  is  never  too  late  to  turn  to 
Him  in  this  world.  —  O  Frank!  pray  with  him." 

All  knelt,  while,  in  a  few  plain,  earnest  words, 
Frank  Van  Alstyne  commended  the  dying  man  to 
the  Fountain  of  all  mercy.  Phin  evidently  followed, 
and  understood  the  words. 

" Thank  you,"  said  he  faintly.  '"I  guess  ma  was 
right,  after  all.  I  am  a  poor  wretch,  but  He  can  save 
me  if  He  is  what  you  say. — There,  don't  cry,  Kit. 
Be  a  good  girl,  and  mind  Mrs.  Van  Zandt.  —  Lord, 
have  mercy  on  me  !  " 

These  were  his  last  words.  He  lay  in  a  sort  of 
slumber,  starting  now  and  then,  till  Symantha  came 
in.  He  evidently  knew  her;  for  he  pressed  her  hand, 
and  tried  to  put  it  into  Mrs.  Van  Zandt's.  The  old 
lady  understood  the  movement,  and  bent  over  him. 

"  Have  no  fear,  Mr.  Mallory :  your  daughter  shall 
have  every  care  and  help." 

Phin  smiled,  sighed  once,  and  all  was  over. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE    END. 

OF  course,  by  nine  o'clock  the  whole  town  of  Old- 
ham  was  ringing  with  the  news  of  the  robbery  and 
the  capture.  Aunt  Betsy  burst  in  upon  Mr.  West- 
on's  family  at  the  breakfast-table.  But,  before  she 
had  time  to  tell  her  tale,  Miss  Delia  Claxton  popped 
in  at  the  other  door. 

"Oh,  have  you  heard?  Isn't  it  dreadful!  And 
that  poor  man  to  be  taken  so ! " 

"  It  serves  him  right,"  said  Aunt  Betsy  grimly. 
"  I  only  hope  folks  will  have  enough  of  those  Mal- 
lorys,"  with  a  fell  glance  at  Miss  Armstrong.  "  I 
always  said  it  was  a  shame  to  let  that  young  one  go 
to  school  with  decent  folks'  children." 

"But  what  is  the  matter?"  asked  Mrs.  Weston. 
"What  has  happened?" 

"Why,  a  gang  of  robbers,  with  Phin  Mallory  at 
their  head,  have  robbed  Mrs.  Van  Zandt's  house,  and 
would  have  murdered  every  one  in  it  only  the  police 
came  and  caught  them,"  said  Aunt  Betsy.  "  And 
that  Kit  showed  them  the  way,  and  told  them  where 
all  the  jewels  were,  and  all.  Only  last  night  she  was 

357 


358  OLD  If  A  AT;    OR,    BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

at  my  house  riding  on  the  wagon-box  with  Abner 
Basset t,  just  as  bold  as  brass.  I  hope  he  feels  proud 
of  his  company,  that's  all." 

"  You  are  very  much  mistaken,  Aunt  Betsy,"  said 
Miss  Delia:  "it  was  Kit  who  gave  them  warning. 
Phin  sent  her  on  purpose." 

"Yes,  that's  likely.  I  should  like  to  know  how 
you  know  so  much  better  than  any  one,"  snapped 
Aunt  Betsy. 

"  Because  I  had  the  news  from  headquarters," 
answered  Miss  Delia.  "  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  sent  Aggy 
down  for  me  by  daylight  this  morning ;  and,  when  I 
was  helping  to  lay  poor  Phin  out,  Aggy  told  me  the 
whole  story ; "  which  story  Miss  Delia  repeated  with 
great  precision. 

"So  Phin  is  dead,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "  Poor  fel- 
low ! " 

"  Yes,  he  is  dead  ;  but  I  can't  help  hoping  he  had 
grace  to  repent  at  last,  from  what  they  told  me. 
The  other  robber  was  —  who  do  you  think? —  Harry 
Burchard.  Yes,  that  very  little  curly-haired  boy 
that  I  dressed  in  the  first  trousers  he  ever  had  on. 
It  seems  his  wife  has  been  living  in  Oldbury,  pre- 
tending to  be  a  great  lady  from  New  York ;  and 
he  has  been  visiting  her  off  and  on,  calling  himself 
Pyncheon,  and  disguised  like  an  old  gentleman.  She 
took  that  Whitman  cottage,  and  they  say  it  was  she 
who  betrayed  him,  to  try  to  get  off  herself;  but 
she  didn't,  for  the  house  was  just  full  of  stolen 
goods."  Miss  Delia  stopped  for  want  of  breath. 

"  Selina,"  said  Miss  Armstrong,  "  would  you  mind 
going  up  to  my  room  to  shut  my  window  ?  I  left  it 


THE   END. 


359 


open,  and  my  papers  will  be  blowing  about  the 
carpet." 

"  Selina  looks  pale,"  observed  Miss  Delia  as  Selina 
disappeared. 

"  She  has  not  been  well  for  a  day  or  two,"  an- 
swered Miss  Armstrong.  "I  think  she  has  worked 
too  hard  for  her  strength.  So  it  was  Kitty  who 
carried  the  warning  ?" 

"Yes.  It  seems  poor  Phin's  heart  misgave  him  at 
the  last ;  so  he  put  Kit  out  at  the  front-door,  and 
the  poor  child  ran  all  the  way  over  the  hill,  and  got 
there  just  in  time." 

"  There !  I  knew  she  had  a  hand  in  it  somehow," 
said  Aunt  Betsy  triumphantly.  "Well,  give  me 
folks  that  one  knows  something  about.  What  could 
you  expect  from  a  poorhouse  young  one  like  that  ?  " 

"But  that  she  should  risk  her  life  to  save  her 
friends,"  said  Miss  Armstrong,  finishing  the  sentence. 

"  And  as  to  knowing  about  people,  I  am  sure  we 
know  all  about  Harry  Burchard,"  said  Miss  Delia. 
"His  grandfather  was  minister  of  Rivermouth  ;  and 
his  father  was  old  Mr.  Burchard  of  Pentaquam,  as 
good  a  man  as  ever  lived.  Such  sacrifices  as  they 
made  to  send  that  boy  to  school -and  college  ! " 

"They  used  to  indulge  him  awfully,  though,"  re- 
turned Aunt  Betsy.  "  His  mother  used  to  let  him 
put  sugar  in  his  bread  and  milk.  I  have  seen  him 
do  it." 

"And  as  to  Kit's  family,  it  turns  out  to  be  as  good 
as  anybody's,"  continued  Miss  Delia.  "  Her  father 
was  Phin's  own  cousin,  David  Selkirk,  —  you  remem- 
ber him,  Abby, —  and  her  mother  was  a  Miss  Joyce, 


360          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

daughter  of  an  excellent  Irish  minister  who  emigrated 
to  this  country.  His  wife  died  of  cholera  on  the 
ship,  and  the  poor  man  only  lived  a  few  months  after 
her.  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  adopted  the  little  girl,  and 
brought  her  up.  But  when  she  was  eighteen  she 
got  acquainted  with  David  :  so  marry  him  she  would, 
and  did,  and  went  out  West  with  him  ;  and  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt  never  saw  her  afterward." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  way,"  said  Aunt  Betsy.  "Adopt- 
ing children  is  flying  in  the  face  of  Providence,  any- 
way." 

"  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  tokl  me  she  was  struck  with 
Kit's  resemblance  to  this  poor  thing  the  first  time 
she  saw  her,"  continued  Miss  Delia.  "  She  is  going 
to  keep  the  child  for  her  own,  only  Kit  stays  with 
Symantha  for  the  present." 

"  How  did  Symantha  take  it  all  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Weston. 

"  Very  hard,  poor  thing.  She  closed  her  father's 
eyes,  and  kissed  him  ;  but  she  never  shed  a  tear,  and 
her  face  was  like  ashes.  Presently  she  says  to  Mrs. 
Van  Zandt,  '  Did  pa  tell  you  about  the  child  and  the 
money  ? '  And  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  said  yes,  but  not  to 
mind  about  the  morusy :  she  had  plenty.  And  then 
Symantha  said,  '  I  should  like  to  keep  Kit  with  me 
for  a  few  days.'  And  Mrs.  Van  Zandt  said  Kit  should 
stay  as  long  as  she  liked  ;  and  she  kissed  Symantha, 
and  thanked  her  for  all  that  she  had  done.  And  they 
got  her  to  crying  at  last.  Then  she  went  home ;  and 
I  went  with  her,  and  got  her  to  lie  down  and  take  some 
tea.  Celia  is  up  there  now,  helping  Ma  Bassett  put 
the  house  in  order." 


THE  END.  361 

"I  should  think  she'd  be  afraid,"  said  Aunt 
Betsy. 

"  Oh,  there's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of :  an  officer  or 
policeman  is  staying  there.  They  searched  the 
house  and  barns,  but  they  didn't  find  a  thing  but 
what  belonged  there  ;  and  nobody  thinks  Symantha 
was  any  way  mixed  up  in  it.  Of  course  she  may 
have  had  her  suspicions  ;  but  nobody  could  expect  her 
to  betray  her  own  father,  even  if  she  had  known  for 
certain." 

"  Poor  thing!  and  poor  Phin  !  "  said  Mrs.  Weston. 
"  I  hope  he  had  grace  to  repent. 

'  Between  the  saddle  and  the  ground, 
If  mercy's  sought,  mercy's  found.'  " 

"  Maybe  so,  but  I  don't  believe  in  death-bed  re- 
pentances," said  Aunt  Betsy.  "  I  never  knew  one 
to  come  to  any  thing." 

"  I  never  knew  many  people  after  their  death-beds, 
so  I  can't  judge,"  said  Mrs.  Weston  dryly.  "  I  guess 
I'll  send  Ezra  up  to  Mallory's  with  a  loaf  of  bread 
and  the  chicken-pie  I  made  yesterday.  I  can  get 
something  else  ready  for  Sunday,  and  it  will  save 
them  trouble  in  cooking." 

Selina  went  up  to  Miss  Armstrong's  room,  and 
closed  the  window.  Then  she  retreated  to  her  own, 
and  sat  down,  not  so  much  to  think  as  to  stare  aghast 
at  the  gulf  which  had  opened  at  her  feet,  and  into 
which  she  had  been  so  near  falling.  For  she  had 
been  very  near  it :  only  last  night,  sitting  in  that  very 
chair,  she  had  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  write 
to  Mrs.  Orme,  and  arrange  to  return  to  New  York 


362          OLDHAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

with  her.  She  would  have  done  so  then  and  there, 
but  that,  on  opening  her  desk,  she  found  she  had 
used  all  her  paper.  Suppose  she  had  done  so.  Sup- 
pose the  exposure  had  been  delayed  a  few  days,  long 
enough  for  her  to  leave  her  home,  and  meet  Mrs. 
Orme  at  Elmfield,  as  that  person  had  proposed.  The 
thought  turned  her  cold  and  sick.  It  never  occurred 
to  her  to  doubt  the  truth  of  the  story.  On  the  con- 
trary, a  hundred  things  went  to  confirm  it.  She  had 
had  more  than  one  fit  of  cold  misgiving  as  to  the 
character  of  her  friend,  since  her  return  home  ;  and 
her  talk  with  Milly  had  shaken  her  more  than  she 
had  been  willing  to  own  to  herself  at  the  time.  But 
then,  the  net  had  been  such  a  very  tempting  one,  and 
it  had  been  so  skilfully  laid  in  the  sight  of  the  silly 
little  field-bird,  discontented  with  its  nest,  and  long- 
ing for  a  wider  flight.  And  now  it  would  all  come 
out,  and  every  one  would  know.  Kit  would  tell  how 
she  was  talking  with  that  murderer.  What  should 
she  do  ?  Where  could  she  hide  ?  She  rose  to  her 
feet  with  some  wild  idea  of  running  away,  and  hiding 
from  the  disgrace ;  but  her  limbs  trembled  so,  she 
could  not  stand,  and  she  dropped  down  again. 

She  was  sitting  with  her  head  hidden  on  her  folded 
arms,  conscious  of  nothing  but  a  crushing  load  of 
shame  and  misery,  and  that  vague,  unreasoning  wish 
to  die  which  so  often  seizes  on  young  people  in  the 
presence  of  their  first  overmastering  trouble,  when  a 
gentle  hand  was  laid  on  her  arm,  and  a  gentle  voice 
said, — 

"My  daughter." 

"  O  mother,  don't !  "  moaned  Selina.     "  Oh,  send 


THE   END.  363 

me  away  somewhere,  where  I  shall  not  be  a  disgrace 
to  you.  Oh,  I  wish  you  had  never  seen  me." 

"  Hush,  my  dear,  hush.  Don't  say  such  things," 
said  Mrs.  Weston  gently.  "  Why  should  I  send  you 
away  ?  Suppose  you  have  been  foolish,  and  made 
a  mistake :  what  better  place  than  mother's  house 
could  you  find  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  more  than  foolish,"  said  Selina,  rais- 
ing her  head.  "  You  don't  know  half  how  wicked 
and  ungrateful  I  have  been.  Only  last  night  — 
Oh  !  I  can't  tell  you.  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ? " 

"  Don't  try  to  say  any  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Weston. 
"  Drink  this  coffee,  and  lie  down  ;  and  by  and  by  you 
shall  tell  me  the  whole  story.  Don't  be  afraid,  dear : 
mother  will  always  stand  by  her  girl." 

Selina  was  thankful  for  the  permission  to  stay  out 
of  the  reach  of  prying  eyes  and  questioning  tongues. 
Mrs.  Weston  undressed  her,  and  bathed  her  hot 
head. 

"  God  help  you,  my  child  !  "  said  she,  kissing  her. 
"Try  to  compose  yourself,  and  to  look  to  your 
heavenly  Father.  Trust  Him,  my  dear.  Whatever 
happens,  your  father  and  mother  will  not  forsake  you  ; 
and  His  love  is  stronger  than  theirs." 

"  How  good,  how  lovely,  she  is  !  "  thought  Selina, 
with  a  feeling  of  absolute  wonder.  "  She  knows  I 
am  mixed  up  in  this  horrible,  disgraceful  business, 
and  yet  she  never  gives  me  a  word  of  reproach  or 
unkindness.  And  I  was  ready  to  leave  her  for  that  — 
How  could  I  be  such  a  fool  ?  But  I  have  always 
been  a  fool.  How  shamefully  I  have  treated  Miss 
Armstrong,  and  how  kind  she  was  this  morning  !  I 


364          OLD  HAM;    OR,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

do  believe  I  should  have  dropped  in  another  min- 
ute." 

It  was  a  very  long  day  that  Selina  spent  in  her 
room,  but  it  was  the  most  profitable  of  her  whole  life. 
The  flinty  rock  of  her  heart,  which  refused  to  be 
softened  by  the  rain,  was  crushed  and  powdered  by 
the  hammer.  The  trodden  path  was  hard ;  but  the 
ploughshare  could  turn  it,  and  make  it  fine  for  the 
seed.  Her  eyes  were  opened  to  see  herself,  in  some 
degree,  as  she  was.  She  could  hardly  have  endured 
the  sight,  but  that  the  same  One  who  showed  her  sin 
showed  also  her  Saviour. 

That  night  Selina  opened  her  heart  to  her  mother 
as  she  had  never  done  before,  and  received  her  full 
and  free  forgiveness. 

"  You  have  had  a  hard  lesson,  my  child  ;  but  we 
will  not  grudge  it,"  said  Mrs.  Western.  "  It  will  be 
worth  all  it  costs  if  it  leads  you  home  to  your 
Father's  house." 

"I  hope  it  has,"  said  Selina.  "Do  you  think  it  is 
wrong  for  me  to  hope  that  He  has  forgiven  me  ?  " 

"No,  my  dear.  Why  should  it  be  wrong  for  you 
to  take  Him  at  His  word  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  know,  Mr.  Martin  used  to  say  he  had 
no  faith  in  sudden  conversions,  and  that  the  religious 
life  must  be  a  gradual  growth." 

"  How  many  conversions  can  Mr.  Martin  find  re- 
corded in  the  New  Testament  that  were  not  sud- 
den ? "  asked  Mrs.  Weston.  "  If  I  am  lost  on  the 
mountain  in  a  fog,  and  the  sun  comes  out  and  shows 
me  that  I  am  lost,  it  may  take  me  a  long  time  to  get 
home,  but  it  will  not  take  me  a  minute  to  turn  round 


THE   END.  365 

and  set  off  in  the  right  direction.  Thank  Heaven, 
you  have  turned  round  !  It  makes  me  shudder  to 
think  of  the  horrible  danger  you  have  escaped." 

But  Selina's  trials  were  not  all  over,  by  any  means. 
It  was  known  in  Oldbury  that  she  had  been  on  very 
intimate  terms  with  Mrs.  Orme,  as  she  called  herself ; 
and,  on  examination,  Kit  was  obliged  to  reveal  the 
fact  that  she  had  seen  Selina  talking  with  the  pris- 
oner. What  was  known  in  Oldbury  was  known  in 
Oldham,  and  Selina  knew  that  the  whole  town  was 
talking  about  her.  Moreover,  she  was  called  as  a 
witness  on  the  trial ;  and,  though  her  testimony 
amounted  to  nothing,  except  to  show  how  she  had 
herself  been  victimized,  it  was  a  terrible  ordeal,  and 
when  at  last  she  was  dismissed,  she  felt  as  if  she 
could  never  hold  up  her  head  again.  As  she  dropped 
into  a  seat  beside  her  mother,  a  little  hand  sought 
hers,  and  a  soft  voice  whispered,  — 

"  O  Selina !  don't  be  angry  with  me.  I  didn't 
mean  to  tell,  but  they  would  make  me." 

"You  couldn't  help  it,"  returned  Selina,  pressing 
Kit's  hand. 

"  You  see,  I  knew  him  the  minute  I  saw  him," 
continued  Kit.  "You  don't  know  how  it  made  me 
feel  to  see  him  talking  to  you,  — just  as  it  did  to  see 
the  copperhead  twisted  round  Eddy's  ankle.  I  was 
scared  to  death,  for  I  thought  he  knew  me  ;  but  I  was 
determined  to  warn  you." 

"  You  were  real  good,  and  I  have  always  treated 
you  so  badly  too,"  said  Selina. 

"  Never  mind,"  returned  Kit.  "  It  has  all  come 
right  at  last,  only  for  poor  uncle  Phin  ;  and  I  can't 


366          OLD I/AM;    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

help  hoping  it  is  right  for  him  too.  Uncle  Phin 
wasn't  naturally  so  bad,  only  he  never  had  any  mind 
of  his  own.  He  was  always  so  easy  to  lead  away. 
But  somehow  these  people  who  are  so  easy  to  lead 
wrong  don't  seem  to  be  so  easy  to  lead  right." 

"  Are  you  really  going  to  live  with  Mrs.  Van 
Zandt  in  New  York  ? "  asked  Selina  as  they  walked 
away  from  the  court-room  together. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  live  with  her  at  first,"  an- 
swered Kit.  "  She  says  her  house  is  too  dull  for  a 
little  girl  :  so  I  am  to  stay  with  Miss  Ida's  mother, 
and  take  lessons  of  her  this  winter." 

"  You  will  like  that,"  observed  Selina,  "you  are  so 
fond  of  Miss  Ida." 

"  Yes,  it  would  be  lovely  only  for  leaving  Syman- 
tha.  But  she  says  aunt  Martha  —  mother,  I  mean: 
it  seems  so  queer  that  aunt  Martha  should  be  my 
mother — Symantha  says  mother  made  uncle  Phin 
promise  to  give  me  to  Mrs.  Van  Zandt,  before  she 
died,  and  that  is  just  what  she  should  have  chosen 
for  me. 

"  And  what  is  Symantha  going  to  do  .? " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Armstrong  has  got  her  a  place  as  nurse 
in  some  institution  in  New  York  where  they  take 
weak-minded  people.  It  seems  like  a  very  hard  place, 
but  Symantha  likes  the  idea  ;  and  she  is  just  the  one 
for  the  work,  she  had  so  much  experience  taking  care 
of  mother." 

"  And  when  are  you  going  ? " 

"  As  soon  as  school  closes.  Selina,  do  you  re- 
member that  first  day  Miss  Armstrong  taught,  when 
I  could  not  say  the  Lord's  Prayer?" 


THE  END.  367 

"Yes,  indeed  ;  and  how  I  behaved  !  " 

"  That  was  about  the  best  day  of  my  life,"  contin- 
ued Kit  thoughtfully.  "  I  shall  never  forget  how 
different  the  world  looked  to  me  after  Miss  Arm- 
strong told  me  I  had  a  Father  in  heaven  who  loved 
me." 

"  And  you  believed  it  the  very  minute  you  heard 
it  ?  "  said  Selina,  "  and  you  loved  Him  ? " 

"Why,  yes,  I  couldn't  help  it,"  answered  Kit 
simply. 

"And  I  had  been  taught  about  Him  all  my  life ; 
and  yet,  if  any  one  had  made  me  believe  there  was 
no  God,  I  should  have  been  rather  glad,"  said  Se- 
lina. "  Your  heart  was  the  good  ground,  Kit ;  but 
mine  was  so  hard,  it  is  a  wonder  that  any  thing  good 
could  ever  grow  in  it." 

There  is  little  more  to  add  to  our  story.  When 
the  school  closed,  Miss  Armstrong  proposed  that 
Selina  should  accompany  her  on  a  visit  to  her  sister 
in  Colorado.  It  was  a  long  journey,  she  said ;  she 
should  be  glad  of  a  companion,  and  her  sister  and 
niece  would  make  Selina  more  than  welcome.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Weston  gladly  consented,  willing  to  re- 
move the  girl  for  a  time  from  the  unavoidable  an- 
noyances which  surrounded  her  in  Oldham.  But 
we  all  know  the  dangers  which  beset  young  ladies 
who  go  visiting  in  new  States.  Selina  found  employ- 
ment as  a  teacher  in  one  of  the  schools  which  Chris- 
tian enterprise  has  set  up.  She  returned  home  in 
a  year,  but  not  to  stay.  A  gentleman  who  owns  a 
great  sheep-farm  in  those  parts  came  on  in  the  sum- 
mer, and,  overruling  all  objections  on  the  score  of 


368          OLDHAM ';    OK,   BESIDE   ALL    WATERS. 

Selina's  youth,  carried  her  off  in  triumph. 
Betsy  was  present  at  the  wedding,  of  course,  and 
remarked  that  she  had  always  known  the  Westerns 
would  never  have  any  comfort  out  of  that  girl.  Such 
sights  as  they  had  spent  on  her  !  and  now,  just  as  she 
was  old  enough  to  be  good  for  something,  off  she 
went.  Aunt  Betsy  hoped  he  was  a  respectable  man ; 
but  there  were  queer  folks  out  there,  and  she  shouldn't 
wonder  a  bit  if  something  was  to  happen.  It  is  not 
supposed  that  Aunt  Betsy  will  grow  more  amiable  as 
she  grows  older. 

Patience  Fletcher  recovered  after  a  long  illness; 
but  she  was  never  so  well  as  before,  and  she  was 
obliged  perforce  to  give  up  a  great  deal  of  the  work 
into  Faith's  hands.  Under  these  circumstances  Pa- 
tience learned  gradually  to  believe  that  the  balance 
of  the  universe  was  not  much  disturbed  though  the 
teacup  handles  were  turned  east  instead  of  west,  and 
even  to  be  resigned  when  the  cat  put  her  kittens  in 
the  second-best  clothes-basket,  and  a  fly  got  into  the 
front-room.  In  a  word,  the  thorns  which  had  so 
long  choked  the  good  seed,  being  rooted  up,  she 
found  there  was  room  not  only  for  the  wheat  which 
is  the  staff  of  life,  but  for  the  flowers  which  beautify 
it.  Faith  grew  up  a  capital  housewife,  and  Patience 
confessed  that  Faithie  made  the  house  pleasanter 
than  ever  she  had  done. 

Poor  Cordelia  Richmond  had  the  comfort  of  open- 
ing her  heart  before  her  death.  Mr.  Brace  conveyed 
an  inkling  of  the  case  to  Dr.  Madison,  who  at  once 
called  upon  Mrs.  Richmond  with  his  sister,  who 
was  a  very  great  lady  in  that  world  which  Mrs. 


THE  END.  369 

Richmond  beheld  from  afar  with  envious  eyes.  She 
could  not  for  very  shame  refuse  to  let  the  Doctor  see 
Cordelia  when  Milly  told  her,  before  him,  that  Cor- 
delia had  asked  for  him.  The  Doctor  was  a  man  of 
experience.  He  wasted  no  time  in  idle  words,  but 
went  at  once  to  the  root  of  the  matter ;  and  before 
he  left  he  had  the  comfort  of  laying  the  poor  trem- 
bling child  at  her  Lord's  feet.  Even  Mrs.  Richmond 
could  not  be  angry  when  she  saw  how  peaceful  and 
happy  Cordelia  was  after  the  interview. 

Three  days  after,  the  poor  child  passed  away  in 
great  peace  and  happiness.  The  next  winter  Mrs. 
Richmond  married  a  very  rich  man  with  a  great 
house,  for  which  he  wanted  a  mistress,  and  forthwith 
plunged  into  "society."  Her  new  interest  broke  the 
force  of  her  disappointment  in  Milly,  who  has  turned 
out  "very  eccentric;  just  like  her  poor  father,  you 
know,"  Mrs.  Richmond  says.  "But  she  is  a  good 
child,  after  all ;  and  I  let  her  take  her  own  way." 
That  way  leads  Milly  to  a  great  many  strange  places, 
to  an  Italian  mission  school,  and  a  sewing-school ; 
and  not  seldom  to  Mrs.  Van  Zandt,  whose  almoner 
she  is  among  her  poor  pupils,  —  a  circumstance  which 
almost  consoles  her  mother  for  her  oddity. 

Kit  is  staying  with  Ida  Van  Zandt  at  Rockdale, 
studying,  and  working  very  hard  at  her  music.  She 
spends  most  of  her  Sundays  with  Mrs.  Van  Zandt, 
who  finds  great  delight  in  her  society,  and  promises 
to  take  her  to  see  Miss  Armstrong  next  summer. 

For  Miss  Armstrong  is  settled  in  Oldham  for 
good.  She  has  actually  married  Mr.  Brace,  and  set- 
tled down  in  the  Oldham  parsonage,  which  has  been 


37O          OLDHAM ';    OR,   BESIDE  ALL    WATERS. 

beautified  to  such  an  extent  that  it  hardly  knows 
itself.  More  than  that,  the  parish  has  built  a  fine, 
convenient  Sunday-school  room,  which  it  is  Mr.  Ket- 
tle's pride  and  delight  to  keep  in  the  best  of  order ; 
remarking,  as  he  does  nearly  every  Sunday,  that  he 
don't  grudge  the  work  so  long  as  it  keeps  the  wear 
and  tear  of  the  school  out  of  his  church.  For  Mr. 
Kettle  looks  upon  the  church  and  the  minister,  not 
to  mention  the  minister's  wife,  cow,  horse,  and  pig,  as 
his  own  private  property,  and  the  best  in  their  several 
ways  to  be  found  in  the  United  States,  and  pays  no 
heed  to  the  remark  of  Aunt  Betsy  (also  repeated 
every  Sunday),  that  Mr.  Brace  may  be  all  very  well, 
but  he  will  never  fill  Dr.  Munson's  pulpit. 

We  must  now  take  our  leave  of  Oldham  and  its 
people.  Perhaps  some  time  or  other  we  may  visit 
there  again.  I  hope  the  moral  of  my  story  is  clear 
enough  to  tell  itself.  To  all  of  us  comes  the  sower 
bearing  precious  seed.  Shall  we  let  it  lie  by  the 
wayside,  the  prey  of  every  wandering  bird  ?  shall  we 
let  the  thorns  grow  up,  and  choke  it,  so  that  no  fruit 
shall  be  brought  to  perfection  ?  or  shall  we  receive 
it  into  an  honest  and  good  heart,  that  it  may  bring 
forth  fruit  unto  everlasting  life  ? 


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